


Be alright tomorrow

by sshysmm



Series: False Hope [1]
Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: (except Kay sorry Kay), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Backstory, Bisexual Jyn Erso, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Imperial incompetence, Injury Recovery, Long, M/M, POV Cassian Andor, POV Jyn Erso, Slow Burn, sshysmm tries to do plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-09-19 22:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 136,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9462311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sshysmm/pseuds/sshysmm
Summary: Jyn, Cassian, Bodhi, Baze and Chirrut survive Scarif. In the uncertainty leading up to the Battle of Yavin, they struggle to come to terms with losses and hopes, and with what their place is within the galaxy - and the Rebellion. A mission for Admiral Ackbar and General Madine unites them around a determination to achieve more than what is just pragmatic, and an encounter with an Imperial prisoner leads them from insubordination to insubordination...Whilst Chirrut, Baze and Bodhi come to terms with the loss of their homeworld, Cassian and Jyn struggle to unify their past with new identities.Jyn/Cassian centric, with established Baze/Chirrut, and Force-sensitive Chirrut.---I finally worked up the courage to write a fix-it. And to try and fit my ideas round the heaps of excellent fix-its there are already. And then it turned into a novel. And then it started telling me it wanted to be more than one novel-length fic. Mostly, it's been a learning experience: namely OH GOD I'LL NEVER TRY AND WRITE PLOT AGAIN.If you're here for whatever the ride is ... please enjoy. I've had fun writing, I hope some people enjoy reading it as much as I've (mostly) enjoyed writing it. Thanks for being here :-)





	1. Chapter 1

It arrived whilst they were in the turbolift. A strange, quiet moment shattered by panicked shouting, the clatter of Imperial boots falling out of line. They may as well have been invisible in the chaos, still cocooned in the harsh fluorescents of the lift pod, where the only sounds were the swooshing of the lift and their ragged breaths.

…

The sunlight was dazzling, battering them from above as the luxurious white sand pulled at their feet. The idyllic beaches were overlaid with black smoke. She could smell her own sweat and Cassian’s, and the scorched red scent of the blaster wound in his side. The sky was delicate eggshell blue, cracked and blistered with the tumbling wreckage of starfighters and trails of laser fire. _It_ hung in the clear backdrop, a mockery of the moon’s delicate outline, as the meteors born of a star destroyer’s demise began to pepper the air.

…

The only ships in flight seemed to be TIE strikers, and her neck ached from looking up. Her voice sounded dusky and unfamiliar when she spoke again into the commlink, and she felt Cassian watching her impassively, growing heavier with each shaking, stumbling step.

…

A static rustle, the most beautiful noise she could imagine. Bodhi, breathless, sounding pained, the crackle of the channel merged with the agony in his voice. But he was coming, and the zeta-class shuttle rising from the jungle was made elegant despite its rusty underside and ominous black wings.

…

Troopers ran at them, blasters forgotten, arms waving, their air-filter grilles become grimaces of panic. She guided the two of them backwards as Cassian fired, his mouth grim and eyes shadowed: their escape was not an act of charity. Reality set in, and those still standing started to fire back. She held his left hand in her left, his right hip in her other hand, and she steeled herself to take the trust he gave her, to keep him standing, keep him moving, to take that trust and face away from the troopers firing on them, to trust him to keep them covered. The landing ramp was so close behind them, furrowing the sand, leading to muffled sounds of Bodhi’s encouragement.

…

Their confused shouting overlapped in waves, the deck of the cargo shuttle tilted drunkenly, she felt the ridged surface of its metal floor dig into her knees and palms. Air and sand and salt water mingled with her wild hair and she made herself crawl onwards to the edge of the deck, where the ramp started to slope down away from her. She took Chirrut’s limp hand, her shoulders whining like the shuttle’s engines as she pulled back, dragging him up the ramp. The sound of Baze hauling himself onto the ramp below Chirrut was metallic and heavy, his gun and armour clattering beneath him as he struggled to get all four limbs under him, secure on a surface that wanted to tip him back onto burnt and bloodied sands. His voice added to the melee in the shuttle even before he was off the ramp, everyone’s invocations of Bodhi’s name ringing out over the pilot’s desperate acknowledgements.

…

The ship rattled like it was being pelted with meteorites as it was forced into an early jump to hyperspace. Her bones jarred and teeth clattered together, and she didn’t even try to stand. The inside of the shuttle was dark and yawningly empty compared to their earlier flight. It smelled of fire and blood and fear. She tried to gulp in panicked breaths, but the atmosphere made her retch. Chirrut was moaning in a low voice, Baze’s breathing was a growl, and two voices running high on adrenaline were still raised in the cockpit.

…

The console looked like a murder weapon. Cassian shot her a pinched glare that he’d had focussed on Bodhi, whose eyes were wide and wilder than she’d ever seen them, his face streaked with blood and his skin pale and clammy. She probably swore, descending the ladder unsteadily on a leg that she started to realise was rapidly becoming unusable. Cassian probably swore too, began a sequel to the tirade she’d partially heard from the hold. Bodhi shrugged and waved his hands and she saw then that one of them was the reason for the blood on the console and the smell in the hold. She swore again and grabbed the mangled limb, pulling against him to keep it raised above his head and adding her voice to Cassian’s. A med kit was found in a panel behind the pilot’s seat, her quivering fingers were not gentle when she tore what pieces of his sleeve remained from him and wound bacta bandages around it the shrapnel-studded skin and meat. The pain was overcoming his adrenaline now that they were settled into the blue lullaby of hyperspace, she saw doubt entering Bodhi’s eyes, saw him start to remember whatever it was he’d done.

…

There were no more med kits on board and they needed to save the stim patches for landing. She focussed on the rising and falling of her chest, and on Baze’s steady, eloquent stare. Chirrut’s head and shoulders were in his lap, his body freshly bandaged so that the sickly smell of bacta now mingled with the hold’s memory of the explosion that had ruined Bodhi’s arm. Baze held one of Chirrut’s hands, his other vast paw stroking the guardian’s short-cropped hair. It was the first time she had seen Baze without his gun pack attached. Neither of them spoke, but by keeping their eyes on each other their wills were joined together, one silent voice driving the ship forward, praying for speed and for mercy from the base they’d absconded from only hours before.

…

Stims could only do so much, but Bodhi’s legs were working and the medics at the top of the hatch were reaching out for his good arm. She supported his back for as long as she could and felt his body shaking as he made one boot find a rung and then another. Cassian tried to stand when he thought she was still focussed on Bodhi, but she heard his breath hitch and gasp, saw the distinctive quiver of unwilling muscles as he tried to push himself up. He didn’t attempt to hide the gratitude in his face when she moved back to his side, bent and brought him to a skidding, ungainly stance. Her own muscles felt like the agonised metal that had fallen from the sky around them on Scarif, but his sudden weight was a call to arms that rallied her, let her push past the pain in her leg once more. His hair tickled her skin and his forehead buried itself in her neck momentarily as he tried to shift his stance. She grimaced at the way his ankles buckled disobediently and half-carried him to the ladder, letting her own back jar on the metal and watching his fingers unfold stiffly from the fists they’d formed in the material of her clothes. His face orbited close to hers as he swayed his grip to the ladder and she suddenly felt thirsty, cold, oddly incomplete as his bodyweight left her and he started once more to climb.

…

She doubted she’d been this clean in years. The scent of bacta was deep in her very skin, and her hair felt feathery and insubstantial. Her clothes had been washed and patched, and the cleaning product complemented the bacta in a way that made her nose itch. Her customary bun would not form as she wanted, and exasperated her stiff fingers. She was surrounded by a phalanx of impatient med droids; and she knew she wasn’t projecting this emotion, because they had repeatedly made it clear to her that their resources were needed elsewhere, the bed was also needed, and she should have left several minutes ago. She’d tried asking about the other survivors, but the droids were programmed for efficiency rather than empathy, and the longer she tried to reason with their cold white optical sensors, the more she found herself missing Kaytoo.

                Still dazzled by the brightness and the smell of the place, Jyn let them lead her away from the ward, the walls reforming from white plast and curtains into the greenish stone she remembered from her previous visits to Base One. Satisfied that they were rid of her, the droids backed away, and her eyes were free to fall on a stack of datapads stored precariously at a desk that she supposed must function as an occasional reception area. Trying to revive her wilted hair with one hand, she didn’t hesitate before grabbing a datapad with the other. As hoped, it was a list of patients, and she couldn’t decide whether to roll her eyes or smile at the trust displayed in the insular world of the hidden base.

                She scanned the aurebesh quickly, lips moving as she murmured encouragement at the records.

                “Ms Erso?”

                The voice hid a trepidation that made her frown, but she looked up at the private that had appeared in the doorway of the med bay. He seemed flustered, and she guessed he knew he was late, given the med droids’ insistence that she should have left sooner.

                “You are to accompany me to General Draven’s office.”

                Jyn surveyed him coolly, letting the silence worm its way between them. As he opened his mouth to ask again, she shrugged and gestured to him to lead on. He was by now so on edge that she wasn’t even sure he noticed her bring the datapad with her. He certainly didn’t challenge her on it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Ms Erso, please have a seat,” Draven looked more casual than when she’d first met him, but no less harassed than she remembered him at the Alliance council meeting. His collar was looser and he sipped from a mug of caf, but the professionally clipped tones of his voice were wrung tight.

                She sat, rearranging her right leg when she found an uncomfortable twinge in the position she’d normally have crossed her limbs. Meeting his scrutiny with a challenge in her eyes, she maintained her silence, waiting to see where the whirlwind of the last few days had finally dumped her.

                Draven was more comfortable with this than the nervous private had been, so he sat back and surveyed her in return, his hands coming to interlink before him.

                Jyn knew his judgement of her was having an effect because she had to bite down on her tongue to avoid blurting out that _actually, the Pathfinders referred to me as ‘Sergeant Erso’._ But he’d brought her here, he could lead their interactions.

                Eventually he shrugged and plucked a datapad from the table by him, beginning his questions a few days ago, when she’d agreed to lead Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, and an unexpected bounty of special forces into an unsanctioned suicide mission. It followed the standard structure of a debrief, Draven teasing motivation and opinion from her even as he established the facts of what had taken place on Scarif.

                The last time he’d questioned her it had been a tag-team conversation between Draven, Mon Mothma and Cassian. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it must have been barely a standard week. Jyn had had nothing to say to them then, had been smarting and aching from Wobani, still convinced that any shadow might contain Kennel, or some other would-be assassin with a sharpened tool. Now she was disoriented and tired, but she felt like she had entered into a new galaxy; she had passed through Scarif, slept through the first sound medical treatment she’d received in years, and was still trying to understand why this world seemed a little out of step with every movement she made. She saw no reason not to be honest with Draven about the mission, and she fiercely defended every being who had accompanied her, even without the prompting of an attack from the intelligence officer. She thought she even saw a smile ghost across his lips when she praised K-2SO’s final actions.

                Uttering a sigh, he finally uncrossed his legs and set the datapad aside.

                “Thank you, Ms Erso, for your co-operation,” he looked down at where his hands gripped each of his knees and then returned a more candid gaze to her face. “As you’ll appreciate, this is something of a contentious matter amongst the council.”

                Jyn frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but Draven shook his head and took another sip of caf, grimacing when he tasted how cold it had grown. “I’m going to let you in on classified information, Ms Erso. It would be against my better judgement in any other situation, but unfortunately I am compelled to share it with you now.” He studied her again, but this time it felt like genuine emotional concern prompted the look he gave her. He opened his mouth, paused, and considered his words.

                “We don’t have the plans.”

                Her mouth dropped open and she went to stand. She got a few inches from the seat before strength left her like she’d received a sucker punch to the gut. She was aware her lips were open in a dumb, gasping gape, but she felt numb in her face, in the tips of her fingers and toes. She knew her breathing had started to race, knew she was entering shock, but all she could think was that it was easier than considering what Draven had said.

                “Erso! Erso!” he leaned forward and shook her hands. _That’s my father, not me_ , she wanted to tell him, but somewhere within, fury had woken up and was starting a war with shock. She felt split in two, hot and cold, silent and snarling all at once.

                “I need you to tell me what your father’s message said. I need to know all the details you can remember about the weakness.”

                She made herself meet his expression: it was urgent and genuine, with none of the poker-faced sternness she remembered. It worried her intensely.

                Jyn shook her head. “I told you. I told you what I heard. Something in the reactor. A chain reaction that … that would make it blow.” Her eyes wandered away from him to escape the desperation on his face, but she brought them back again. “How? Did no one … did no one receive it? Was there no one left?”

                Draven bit his lip and sat back, the skin on his large forehead crumpled. “Raddus received it. But he was boarded shortly afterwards. The plans were copied and handed to a ship that had been on board for repairs — a ship also containing a significant member of the Alliance. We know they made it out of Imperial space, but she had her own mission to complete. In the Outer Rim. We’ve not heard from them for some time.”

                She tried to be ashamed of the wave of relief she felt that someone had picked up their transmission. It still hadn’t been enough, after all. But at least she didn’t have to imagine that her part of the mission had been entirely in vain. She’d held up her end of the bargain.

                The General’s expression had shifted again. He was more restless than she’d ever seen him; she could practically see all the plates he was trying to keep spinning at once. “I don’t suppose … we’ve checked every inch of the shuttle, but you didn’t stow a hard copy aboard?”

                Jyn gaped at him again. “No. I had no idea I’d even get off that planet! I trusted _someone_ would receive them.”

                Draven flinched. “It seemed a lot to ask. And I’d avoid repeating that about not getting off the planet — it brings me to another awkward point.”

                She steeled herself. She’d been cushioned in a bubble something like a residual bacta tank when she’d entered the office, floating in this new galaxy she’d found herself in rather than fully engaging with it. But now she could feel reality sink its claws in, tug her back into touch with the world and all its sharp, uncomfortable edges.

                “As you’ll recall, the council was not universally agreed that … resisting the, er, Death Star was the best way forward,” Draven’s voice was sour now, and Jyn felt her own phantom smile cross her lips at his evident frustration. “Many of the higher-ranking figures who supported your mission have not returned from Scarif, Admiral Raddus included.” Draven sighed and picked up his datapad again, fiddling pointlessly with something on the screen.

                “The council is in a dire state. I’ve been in the Rebellion for decades, and I’ve never seen the fractures run so deep. At the moment, we are doing all we can to keep everyone united, but I must warn you … there aren’t many concessions we’re willing to make to the senators who didn’t support you. One of the few concessions we might make is to confine you to the Base, to quarters or the brig if necessary.” Draven’s eyes searched for a reaction, but Jyn felt like she had re-entered a very familiar world now. Her face was settled into a blank look of detached interest.

                “Many believe that your actions on Scarif were tantamount to a desire for martyrdom. They feel you used the Rebellion for your own ends, to alter the legacy of a man they still believe to have been an Imperial collaborator.”

                Jyn inhaled deeply at that, clenching her fists. Draven waited, inviting her to speak, but she had no need to say anything. Another’s words came back to her, choked with dust and ozone and the sheer, cloying intensity of the last week: Saw telling her that he’d worried the Rebellion would seek to use her because of her father. And now her father was dead, but that was still all the galaxy could offer her.

                “Senator Mothma and … I will fight your case, Jyn. But it would have been easier if we’d had something concrete to offer them. At the very least, Senator Mothma hopes to win you the freedom we promised, with guarantees of your silence regarding the location of this base, and with _exceptional_ behaviour on your part in the meantime.”

                She felt herself sway a bit in the chair, caught between the memory of how good _freedom_ had sounded after Wobani, and how large, how terrifying it sounded when it came upon her now unawares, with no chance to consider the events she had just experienced. She forced a nod of acknowledgement out though, and gathered herself to stand.

                “Hold on, let me tell you first that you’ve been assigned a bunk for now,” Draven followed up. She’d finally had enough of him talking though, and looked at him with a plea to be allowed to leave the office. “You’re in private quarters. We sold it to the council on the basis that your movements will be easier to track, but Senator Mothma wanted you to know that she felt you deserved some privacy after all, well, all you’ve experienced recently.”

                He was trying to reach out, an intelligence officer’s idea of friendship: he wanted her to know he’d got her something good, and he expected her co-operation in return. She nodded silently again, again shifting as if to stand.

                “I see you’ve already been assigned a datapad,” he reached out a hand to the device in her lap that she’d completely forgotten she held. Draven changed like shifting sands, his expression masked once more. “I’d better check you’ve been given the right clearances.”

                Something like a stone, or despair, had settled deep in Jyn’s chest. She handed it to hum numbly.

                Draven scanned the screen, frowned, raised his eyebrows, tapped it once or twice, and returned it to her. “Thank you, Ms Erso, that all appears to be in order.”

                She glanced down and felt a loosening in her throat. The aurebesh jumbled as a thick film of water welled up over her eyes, but she saw enough: _Captain Andor … Imwê … Malbus … Rook_. She sniffed back on the emotion and nodded at Draven again as she stood. It was another bribe to ensure her compliance whilst the council privately negotiated her fate, but it offered something she had known she wanted, and she was genuinely grateful to the grim-faced officer before her. Jyn let the words “thank you, sir,” tumble from her mouth as she rose to follow the nervous private from Draven’s office again.

                “Private Capstan will show you to your quarters,” Draven said gruffly, turning back to his desk in a display of nonchalance that did not fool her as it had previously.

                She followed the private for what felt like far too long, down corridors and up a short turbolift ride. Her room was several floors up, along one of the Massassi temple’s exterior walls. She was given an access card and left alone in an airy room filled with more light than she’d seen anywhere else on the base. She had access to a ‘fresher with sonic shower, a nutrition synthesiser, a narrow cot, chair and small desk, and rudimentary storage space. She was alone for the first time in more months than she could count. In space that, at least temporarily, was hers and not the property of her jailers.

                Well, that wasn’t what it was yet, anyway.

                Putting the thought from her mind with a dark scowl, she sat heavily on the bed and finally allowed herself the trickle of hope that came from raising the datapad to her eyes. Her gaze hopped impatiently around the information, barely able to settle on any one word or phrase: _fractured pelvis … burns to thorax … inflicted by grenade … significant damage … state of confusion … prosthetic on order …_ she flung the datapad onto the bed, kicked off her boots and lay back, nausea mingling with giddy elation. They were alive. They had made it back, and they were all alive. She’d not felt this kind of relief since … one of the last missions with Saw? She didn’t want to think about that now. It felt dull and distant, meaningless with the time that had passed, not electric and bright like the knowledge that four people she’d met a week ago were still alive, just a few hundred metres away, within this building.

                For a moment, she didn’t even think about how they’d react when they found out the plans were lost. Maybe they wouldn’t need to find out. Maybe the Death Star would come here and obliterate everything before they could know.

                Jyn sat up, heart thudding in the unaccustomed quiet of the room. She needed to see them. That was certain. Draven wouldn’t have let her keep the datapad if she wasn’t authorised to visit, surely?

                She fumbled her boots back on and finally succeeded in scraping enough of her hair back to form a bun. Grabbing the datapad and key card, her only possessions on the planet, she barrelled through the door and back towards the turbolift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit on Jyn's Wookieepedia page that says people in the Rebellion thought she'd gone to Scarif for martyrdom; I decided to run with it.


	3. Chapter 3

Her heart was in her mouth when she saw that only one of the four beds was occupied. Then she saw the calm nod she received from Baze, who sat in a chair that was mostly eclipsed by one of the empty beds. Her own gaze feeling heavier, she managed to bring her eyes to Cassian’s, where he sat up, framed by the white clouds of pillows and sheets. Like Draven’s, she found his face could shift its angles, sometimes going hard, with deep lines and edges, other times soft and wondering. Something warm seemed to burst in her chest when she saw the latter, his face more like the expression he’d turned on her in the lift on Scarif that she could have remembered.

                “Little sister,” Baze rumbled, leaning back in his chair so that all she could see of him round the empty bed (that she assumed was Chirrut’s) was his nose and jutting dark beard.

                “I came as soon as they’d let me,” she shrugged, trying to bring a smirk to her mouth, feeling wholly, inappropriately brimming with energy and joy at seeing the two of them. She loitered in the plast doorframe, swinging a bit on the spot with her weight on her good leg.

                Cassian had a datapad on the sheets in front of him and he glanced at it, then across at Baze. He pressed a button to switch the screen off. “Bodhi and Chirrut are both undergoing treatment,” he offered.

                “How’re they doing?” with an effort, Jyn found stillness before wandering into the ward, trying to position herself somewhere she could see both Cassian and Baze more easily. The distance between the three of them made her feel awkward though; she remembered the intense flight from Scarif, her eyes locked with Baze’s, their will to survive driving their ship onwards to Yavin. And Cassian, who she had held as an extension of her own body from the top of the Citadel to the depths of the shuttle, whose every enumerated injury she’d read on the datapad had felt like her own as they’d stumbled together towards survival.

                Cassian glanced at Baze again. “They took Bodhi’s arm. He’s getting a prosthetic as soon as it’s safe for the fleet to deliver it.”

                Jyn folded her arms and grimaced. Part of a memory surfaced.

…

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know man, what do you do with a grenade! There was a helmet there from one of the troopers, I just popped it over the top of it—“ “—you ‘popped’ a stormtrooper helmet over a grenade that was about to blow right next to you? You know most people would try and get further away from the grenade rather than—“ “Yeah okay, but have you ever—“ “— _yes_ Bodhi, that’s what I’m saying to you, yes, and I know how easily stormtrooper helmets shatter—“

…

                “I guess the Rook method of blast containment won’t be catching on.”

                Something like a dimple appeared briefly by Cassian’s mouth. “Seems unlikely.”

                Jyn thought her returned smile might have been a little more than was warranted by the situation, so she looked down at her boots to compose her face. “And Chirrut?” she asked Baze.

                Baze raised his eyes to the ceiling and studied it. He grunted and folded his arms, shifting in the chair. “He’s ok. Driving the droids crazy because they think his hearing’s normal for a human his age. Problem is, it’s never been normal before. That grenade went off too close,” the big man shook his head, sending his black locks waving across his shoulders and he continued to stare at the plast above him.

                The elation that Jyn had felt since reading their names on her datapad was fully pierced for the first time. She bit her lower lip and hugged her folded arms tighter, hunching her shoulders. “So … he can’t … see?” she murmured.

                Baze shook his head again. “Not like before, no.” He showed no sign of meeting her eyes again, and his deep voice was cavernous with emotion, so Jyn just nodded and shuffled closer to the foot of Cassian’s bed, leaving Baze to the privacy of the chair where he lurked behind Chirrut’s empty cot.

                Cassian’s chin was lowered so that he looked up at her with a curious, poised expression she didn’t recognise. She was about to ask about his injuries when he pre-empted her. “Did you hear about the plans?”

                Her slow approach came to a stop at the corner of his bed. She pressed her lips together in an angry line and nodded.

                “I’m sorry, Jyn.”

                She had been frowning at his bedsheets, but looked up, unsure of whether the words had been spoken out loud, they had been so soft.

                He was still looking at her. She mustn’t have imagined it.

                She clamped her teeth together and tried to nod again. She couldn’t keep his stare, it demanded too much: too much acknowledgement of what the loss of the plans meant, what their survival meant, what a Rebellion with no plans and a council in disarray meant. “We did our part,” she managed to reply, hoping it might stave off the intensity of his expression for now. She didn’t know what he wanted her to say, but the _want_ of something radiated from him, making her reluctant to move closer to the head of the cot. It was like standing too close to a fire.

                “You’re healing well?” she tried to add levity to her voice, but it came out in an unsteady wobble.

                He granted her a crooked smile, though she still saw worry pinch his eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

                There was a detached snort from behind her. “No, the med droids say they ran your injuries against the list they got from Kaytoo before. They said this was worse.” Baze didn’t attempt to reappear from behind the empty cot, but his gravelly voice had an edge under it that made Jyn frown.

                She looked back at Cassian in time to seem something dark flicker across his face, like a shutter slamming. He and Baze were evidently offering each other about as much support in their individual grieving as she might have expected.

                With a sigh, she forced out the words she supposed she’d come here to say: “well, I’m glad you’re all here.” She said it resentfully, more to her own folded arms than the room though. Cassian’s head tilted as though he wanted to say something, and he tried to shift on the cot, but Jyn retreated again with a nod and a fleeting glance at his face and the spot she knew Baze’s to be. She left the room trying not to rush, but suddenly exasperated, disappointed with herself.

                Jyn had come to the med bay just wanting to be happy that they had survived. She’d wanted to find the closeness they’d shared since they’d last left Yavin 4, but the room now felt oppressive with loss: the loss of the plans, of Kaytoo, of some of Chirrut’s unique abilities, of Bodhi’s arm, of all the other Pathfinders. She felt a dart of panic lance her, guilt rising as she remembered that she had no right to take pleasure in their survival over anyone else’s. How much longer would that be the case anyway with no way of stopping the Empire’s new superweapon?

                She’d been selfish. Wanting to keep a fragile thing like their team together, when it was already clear that their brief time of being bound to one another had come to an end with the loss of the plans; an end to hope. Now she wasn’t someone who had rallied them for a cause anymore, not someone they’d follow and fight for; Baze and Chirrut were just a pair of refugees, away from their obliterated home for longer than they’d ever been off Jedha before; Bodhi was a defector who’d already betrayed the organisation he’d intended to defect to; Cassian was part of a curious duo that would never be seen together again, a mutineer with high level clearance, in limbo within the organisation he’d served for his whole life.

                Jyn thought again of Draven’s warning about the council and she shuddered. Over a few days, she’d had her face rubbed in all the years of hatred she’d kept for her father and for Saw; she’d been forced back into the life of Jyn Erso and she’d found that there was a chance for Jyn Erso to do more than hide. Now, she felt the cold of Wobani and all the other prison cells she’d seen yawning at her back again, threatening to shut her away as though this strange week had never happened.

                She’d walked away from the med bay without really thinking where the corridor led her, and now paused, realising that she wasn’t certain how to find the turbolift to the part of the vast temple where her room was. The idea of closing a door on herself didn’t appeal either now that she considered it, so she followed a path with muggier air than the cold, interior corridors of the temple. It didn’t take long for her to reach the hangar, and it was easy to slip past people, droids, crates and ships in order to meet the edge of the jungle.

                The air grew closer the further she was from the temple, but it was a closeness that felt comforting. Tall ferns and waxy green leaves brushed kind fingertips along her shoulders, coaxing her onwards into undergrowth that glowed in its darkness. The shouts of pilots and mechanics and even the whine of X Wing engines all faded behind her. The jungle embraced her, whispered its own noises in her ears. The life in it made the kyber crystal at her throat resonate with heat, speaking back to her surroundings and soothing her racing pulse. She could almost believe that the force of life in this jungle would be a shield to resist even the Death Star; the green glow of its laser seemed thin and sharp compared with the rich colours surrounding her.

                Whoever she was, wherever she had been, she had always fought tooth and nail for survival. She’d been prepared to fight even her Rebel rescuers on Wobani for the right to define her own survival. But now, she wondered if the unsteady, off-kilter feeling she’d had since coming ‘round in the med bay was a sign that she wasn’t meant to be in this version of the galaxy. It just seemed too cruel, as she stood in the emerald heart of Yavin 4’s ancient jungle, too cruel to believe that they’d survived with nothing but the time to wait sullenly for the Death Star to find them again. The more the universe tried to back Jyn into a corner of hopelessness, the more she found her contrary nature turning to a bullish refusal to give up. She couldn’t call it hope anymore, but she couldn’t bury it beneath unspecified futures.

                Something about the jungle told Jyn that it was too soon for despair.

                Her fingers found the crystal at her neck and her eyes fluttered closed, hearing her mother’s voice so close by that she could imagine Lyra was standing at her side. “Jyn. Trust the Force.”

…

                By the time that she re-emerged from the treeline, Yavin’s red orb was turning the sky the colour of flushed lips. The Massassi temple steamed mauve and the breath of the jungle made clouds form low over the trees.

                Jyn felt exhausted. Her right leg ached and caught with every step; she’d walked too far on it today. But even as her apprehension grew the closer she came to the temple, to the people bustling around it, she held some dislocated experience to her heart, something that gave her the courage to wend through the temple’s dark corridors until she found the right turbolift.

                She entered her room only to visit the ‘fresher, request a mug of caf from the synthesiser, and grab the blanket from her cot in a fist. She found access to the exterior steps of the temple by the tubolift and took her blanket and her caf outside to watch Yavin move across the sky, reeling out a purple night in its wake.

                The stone was still warm from the sun, and the blanket was thicker than the one she’d had on Wobani. She had spent more time in her own company that day than she had in months, with no part of her compelled to keep glancing over her shoulder, coiling to strike. She wondered whether, a week ago, or more, she’d have taken Draven’s information about the council differently. It still frustrated her to think about it, but the sullen fury she used to feel when the galaxy tried to define her by her father’s name had cooled to a mixture of pride and curiosity. She was almost amused that the council thought that confining her to a room on the Rebel base might smooth the ruffled plumage of some senators; as if, what? If she were allowed her freedom she’d keep pilfering Rebel troops for foolish missions until she achieved the martyrdom they supposed she craved?

                The smile the thought raised faded quickly. She thought of her team again, couldn’t help thinking of them in those terms after what they’d been through together. Cassian and Baze and Chirrut and Bodhi. Maybe she’d visit them again tomorrow. Hopefully she’d see Chirrut and Bodhi. They had been the optimists amongst them, hadn’t they? She should have expected a muted and dour response from Cassian and Baze, the cynical spy and the jaded mercenary.

                She’d felt so isolated, standing so far from them in the ward, tamping down on her relief and gratitude at seeing them alive. At least in her own company she wasn’t so aware of being cut adrift, couldn’t feel the immediacy of whatever was suddenly missing from their interactions now. She shivered, thoughts darting without focus over memories of loss, of longing, of being at the bottom of a deep cave, _longing_ for her mother’s face to appear at the top of the tunnel, to hear her father’s voice call her up to them.

                Jyn finished her caf and shuffled the blanket more tightly around her. She recalled all the sunsets on all the planets she’d been on, cycling through more colours than she could name. Yavin 4 offered an impressive addition, not least when she realised the last one she’d seen had been on Wobani, where oily black seemed to seep into a sky as cold and hard as the tundra below it. The caf made her buzz; as weak as it was, it was still stronger than the sludge they’d been granted in the labour camp. Good — she didn’t want to sleep. She scanned the sky, trying to name the systems she saw twinkling into life. The Death Star couldn’t have them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of references to the novels here: 1) Cassian's injuries and Kaytoo carrying him and enumerating them is a thing mentioned in the Freed novel. 2) the reason this is so long is because I get distracted by nature-writing detail on Yavin 4 I guess? I was thinking of a bit in Catalyst when Lyra and Nari describe their concept of feeling close to the Force (and Has tries to understand, bless), and maybe you're like "that's not how the Force works, sshysmm!" but hey, Force-sensitivity has to be a spectrum like everything else, and with the kyber why shouldn't Jyn have a bit of her mother's inkling? Whatever, I promise something will happen in this eventually, anyway. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

He made his legs stop shaking because they were watching him. Cassian stuffed his fatigues and datapad into the satchel that he’d been given along with his returned clothes. His shirt felt thin and cold on his shoulders, but his jacket was no more than space dust now, mingled with particles that had been trees, sand, cities, people. Someone had thought of a satchel for him, but they hadn’t thought of a jacket.

                Eventually he had to stop fiddling with the few contents of the bag and look up. Baze and Bodhi’s eyes were on him, though Chirrut’s just stayed fixed on the ceiling. He was a little surprised to find that he wanted to say something to them — genuinely, he did — but he had no idea what, or how.

                It was Bodhi who made the first move. The pilot twisted out from under his rumpled sheets and leapt to the floor, steadying himself with his left hand; he’d adapted so quickly already to the loss of the other limb. His long, straight hair was on his shoulders, fanning out as he stepped towards Cassian.

                Cassian stood rooted to the spot, recognising what was about to happen but too astonished to do anything about it.

                With a childish bounce of his toes on the cold floor, Bodhi threw his arm around Cassian, the stump on his right side squeezing Cassian’s upper arm with a force that surprised him. It was a quick, hard hug, too quick for Cassian to do more than raise his hands minutely, and Bodhi stepped back with as much twitchy speed as all his movements had. His expression shifted too, his big brown eyes intense on Cassian with a question he was summoning the courage to ask.

                “I want to join, still,” he finally said, swallowing nervously. “I do. Will they have me?”

                The straight line between Cassian’s brows deepened as he nodded. “Yes, they will. When your arm gets here there’s nothing to stop you flying any transport ship we’ve got.”

                Bodhi grinned, relief breaking the tautness around his eyes. “I mean, I did steal the last ship I flew from here…”

                He found himself smiling back; Bodhi’s enthusiasm was infectious. “They’ll get over it. They need all the pilots they can get.”

                Nodding, Bodhi stepped backwards to the edge of his cot again. “Well. Great then. Then I guess I’ll see you round.”

                Cassian barely missed a beat as he agreed, but the hesitation might have been obvious to someone looking for it. He thought from Baze’s studied stillness that Baze might have seen it.

                “Farewell, Captain,” the big man said bluntly. Bodhi glanced over his shoulder to look at Baze and Chirrut, and Chirrut finally stirred. He wore the first grin Cassian had seen on him since they’d got off Scarif; it was more reassuring to see it glow on Chirrut’s face than anything he could have said. The blind man turned his head once in Baze’s direction, then again on the pillow to face Cassian. His hand flexed as he tightened his hold on Baze’s.

                “We’ll see you again soon, Captain.”

                Baze pulled a face, but his eyes were on Chirrut, sadness and love mingled with his customary exasperation.

                Bodhi took heart from the words though, and turned back to Cassian with his smile restored.

                Cassian shrugged. It still felt like a goodbye, and he was still oddly reluctant to leave, but Chirrut’s words had kindled something he’d been trying to douse. Wound tight with unease, he made himself turn and leave the ward, thumbing the various datapads a med droid waved in front of him as he left, agreeing to follow up tests and degrees of both rest and strength-building.

                He shouldered his satchel as he stepped out into the darkness of the corridor, each step something of an exploration. It was probably just a psychosomatic response to having read the details of his injuries, but he still felt like his bones ground where each fracture and break had been, shifting jaggedly where they should have been fused smooth. His walk was rolling and slow, and it was hard enough work that it made his breathing heavier by the time he reached the temple’s command wing.

                “What are you doing here, Captain?” Draven’s voice was flat but knowing when he glared up from his datapad.

                Cassian stood as rigidly as he could, eyes fixed on the wall. “Reporting for debrief, sir.”

                Draven regarded him. The stance was hard to maintain; his shoulders were pinching, and one of his heels wanted to raise, to let a shudder run down from his hip. The General waited until Cassian had to move the leg, then sighed and gestured for him to sit. The chair was hard and uncomfortable, but the strain of supporting his own weight wasn’t plaguing him anymore.

                “I told med bay they didn’t need to apply the usual fast-track process,” he folded his hands over the top of his datapad.

                “I requested it, sir.”

                “Can you tell me why, Captain?”

                He’d expected this. He adopted the most relaxed pose he could, and he knew his face was a mask reflecting Draven’s own blank expression. “I wanted to answer for my actions. And to begin the search for evidence of what has happened to the plans.”

                Draven nodded and steepled his fingers. “Good, and thank you. I’ve an operative in the Tatoo system already, they’ve sent a few updates, and it seems the crew of the Tantive IV was captured by a Star Destroyer a standard day ago.”

                A hard breath escaped Cassian and he felt his cheek move. Draven didn’t look at him.

                “It’s rumoured to have been Vader’s own ship.”

                He nodded, eyes wandering to a dark corner of Draven’s office. There was no chance of retrieving them if Vader had the plans. He felt his chest tighten with a fear he’d first felt only a week ago on Jedha. And now, with the Senator on board, the Empire had proof of Alderaan’s allegiance. It didn’t matter that the senate didn’t exist anymore; things were going to get messy in the galaxy very quickly.

                “And as for answering for your actions, you needn’t trouble yourself,” Draven uncrossed his legs and shifted his chair so that he was side-on to Cassian, facing his desk. “The council wants to let Erso take responsibility, and it’s looking like doing so will be the easiest way to keep everyone together for now.”

                Cassian’s mouth curled and he tilted his head, following Draven’s movements and his hands moved across the keys on his desk console. “What?”

                Draven’s eyes flicked over to him quickly, but he didn’t stop his writing. “She had no allegiance when we dragged her in off that labour camp, you know that. Enough of the council want to believe she had no motivation other than martyrdom on Scarif, but that the rest of you were duped by reference to a higher cause. If we punish her, they’ll be satisfied that we’ve taken the … insubordination of _Rogue One_ seriously, and that the council’s word still means something in the Rebellion.”

                “Jyn saved us,” Cassian had meant the words to sound more neutral than they did. The incredulous whine in his voice was enough to get Draven’s full attention though. “She carried me off that tower, she contacted Bodhi, dragged the guardians onto the shuttle, even patched up Bodhi’s arm. And you’re just going to dump her, use her as a sacrifice for councillors who don’t have the stomach for what this rebellion is? How do they think things will get better now Vader’s confirmed Senator Organa’s one of ours?”

                “I’m not _dumping_ her,” Draven let impatience colour his reply. “Captain, I thought you of all people would understand; the need to keep the council together is greater than a promise of freedom we made to a rootless criminal. No matter what she’s done since, the needs of an individual can’t override the need we have for unity in the council at this stage.”

                Cassian felt light-headed. He thought of the rain on Eadu, the low sky overshadowing his view of Galen Erso through a sniper rifle’s lens. He thought of the sick feeling that had swelled over him when he’d tried to tighten his finger on the trigger, when he’d seen Jyn in her father’s face. Somehow, the thought of her, of being near her and fighting with her, had got him from the agony of his fall in the archives to the top of the Citadel. _I’m not used to people sticking around when things go bad_. He tried to swallow past the hardness in his throat. He didn’t want to be another person to abandon her. Desperately, suffocatingly, he _needed_ to stand by her. By what they’d done.

                Draven was holding a sheet of flimsiplast out to him, a hint of sympathy showing around his eyes. “Get some rest, Captain. Heal. We don’t know what the galaxy’s going to throw at us next, but we’ll carry on. We always do.”

                Cassian took the plast, trying to focus on it. It was a notice of leave, with his name on it. Draven wasn’t going to give him anything to distract him from the slow, frustrating process of recovery, nor from the tug of obligation he felt towards the three men still in the med bay, nor from anything else.

                He knew Draven’s words made sense, and he saw that he had no enthusiasm for using Jyn as a scape-goat, but the sheer unfairness of it made him ache, and so soon after a mission that had revived his faith in the cause and all its demands. He prepared himself to stand, but before he could get far there was a clatter of boots and a gasping comms officer stood in the doorway. “Sir!” the woman grimaced at Draven, her eyes blinking back and forth between him and Cassian.

                Draven beckoned her in with a frown, and Cassian sat down again. Draven told the officer to close the door and confirmed that Cassian could hear whatever it was she needed to report.

                “Sir, we’ve had reports coming in from various sources, it’s all a bit unclear still, but — Alderaan is gone.”

                “Gone?” Draven repeated, his face twisting.

                Cassian stared at him, icy tendrils wrapping themselves around his organs. His knees were shaking and he couldn’t have controlled it if he’d wanted to. His nails dug into the worn pleather of the chair arms.

                “Some say there’s an asteroid field in the vicinity of the planet’s co-ordinates; vessels are accumulating in the area, and searching, but, well, it’s not like a planet can disappear, right sir? There’s no indication of cloaking devices, or—“

                “No, it’s the Death Star,” Cassian croaked, seeing the horror in his own expression reflected back at him both on the comms officer’s and Draven’s faces. “They must finally have used the full power.”

                Draven’s lips moved as he tried to find a fitting response. “Survivors?” was the word he eventually settled on.

                The comms officer shook her head. “None reported yet. And we’ve not picked up any transmissions about Senator, um, Princess Organa.”

                “Sithspit, they’ll be trying to get information out of her. Do you think they—?”

                Cassian saw that the same thought had occurred to Draven. “Get me General Dodonna,” he told the officer. “Don’t let this news spread, I don’t want panic on the base. Say we’re having problems with the comms if anyone tries to contact the planet.”

                The woman gathered herself and nodded, hurrying from the room. As soon as the door shut after her, Draven spun back to his desk. “Dodonna’s been in charge of scoping out possible bases. I hope he’s found a better candidate than Hoth since the last briefing.”

                “Sir, can I—“

                Draven cut him off again, pushing back against the desperate tone in Cassian’s voice. “No, Captain. My previous orders stand. You’re no good for missions yet.” Then the general gave him another sideways glance, and sighed softly. “If I’ve encryptions that need work I’ll send them to you,” he relented.

                Slowly, Cassian raised himself from the chair and excused himself from Draven’s office. A meeting that had started off dissatisfactory had descended into cruelty and then horror. He didn’t know what he was going to do with himself whilst the galaxy sped up all around him. The only thing he was certain of was that he needed to share the dread gripping him with someone else who’d understand. It turned out that, having disobeyed Draven’s orders twice now, the decision to ignore another proclamation was an easy one to make.


	5. Chapter 5

He’d checked the records on his datapad and they’d brought him to an airy, light corridor higher up the temple than he usually found himself. The mossy stone of the walls was dryer than it was in the bowels of the temple and the doors lining the hall were cleaner and less dented than those of the floors below. There was no answer when he pressed the console by the door he’d arrived at though.

                He waited, doubt growing on him like the pain that crept into his body when he stood still for too long. There had been something a little manic about her when she’d visited him and Baze in the med bay, a wild sort of elation that she’d tried to hide. Maybe Draven hadn’t told her about the council. He couldn’t remember anyone look so happy to see him return from a mission; usually it was Draven at the foot of the cot, waiting impatiently for information, or to give him new orders. Or it had been Kaytoo, inexpressive and sardonic, but relieved in his own strange way. It wasn’t the same as when Jyn had tried to hide a smile so wide it made his own cheeks hurt.

                He stood by the door, studying his boots as he tried to understand his memory of the scene, comparing it with the way Bodhi had hugged him and Chirrut had finally grinned. Had made a promise to see him again.

When he eventually heard his name, it came from further down the corridor, a question as bright and breezy as the air in this part of the temple.

                She had her own small limp still, but she looked more like herself, having shed the newborn smoothness that a stint in bacta and med bay gave everyone. Her lips were parted in a soft, curious smile, but her eyes were trying to figure his presence out.

                 He turned too rapidly and winced at a sting of pain in his leg, letting his left hand come out to steady himself on the frame of the door. Jyn sped up to reach him quicker, a hand fluttering to almost grab his arm before she saw he was managing.

                “What’re you doing here?” she retreated a step, folding her arms to maintain the gap.

                “I’ve just been to see General Draven,” he began, studying her reaction.

                “And I bet he asked you the same thing. You don’t look like you should be out of med bay.”

                She skimmed over the words flatly, but he let one side of his lips drag up in a smile. “He did. I’m fine. I’ve got news, though.”

                She tilted her head and was drawn back in towards him. “The plans?”

                “No,” he glanced around. The corridor was empty, but Draven was right; if a word of this spread unchecked through the base there’d be panic.

                She clamped her lips shut, a hard, familiar disappointment settling on her face.

                “I can’t … it’s confidential,” he gestured at the hallway.

                Jyn made a point of turning ‘round to look at every empty part of the space. She pulled a face at him but shrugged and held a card to the console under his left hand, motioning for him to go in as the door slid open.

                It was one of the nicest rooms on Base One, he suspected. Probably used by visiting senators when they didn’t or couldn’t stay on their shuttles overnight. The evidence of Jyn’s stay in it was scant; the heavy blanket on the cot was crumpled in a pile on the pillow, and he saw that one of the mugs by the synthesiser had been used.

                “Can’t get enough of disobeying orders now?” Jyn asked, programming the synth to dispense two mugs of caf. Cassian watched her hand one to him with something like the astonishment he’d felt when Bodhi had hugged him. He hoped a fraction of the gratitude he felt came across in the look he gave her over the rim of the mug.

                Jyn just raised her eyebrows questioningly as she took a sip from her own drink.

                He looked down into her green eyes, wishing that he didn’t have to tell her. They stood in silence, and he remembered the silence of the lift on Scarif; they’d exchanged something then that he couldn’t name, hadn’t thought was within him, and wasn’t sure he could replicate. It was what made him reluctant to shatter this peace with news of Alderaan, but it was also what kept him convinced that she needed to know.

                “They’ve used it again,” he murmured, deciding that any attempt to lead up to the information would only draw the pain out.

                Jyn flinched, her lips dropping open as she lowered her mug. “Where?” she breathed.

                “Full power this time. Alderaan. They’ve obliterated it.”

                Her face crumpled between her brows and below her mouth as she looked away, and her free hand came up to her neck, massaging at something below the collar of her shirt. He waited. He couldn’t do anything else, wasn’t sure how to offer anything of genuine comfort.

                “I’ve never been to Alderaan,” she whispered, face still turned partly from him.

                Cassian shook his head in silent agreement. “They’ve been a part of the Rebellion since it began, but never openly. The Empire must have found out.”

                “But they were pacifists, right?” Jyn finally met his eyes again. When he saw the angles of fury underpinning her anguished expression, he missed a breath. She wasn’t broken by the news; she didn’t look as scared as he’d felt when he’d heard it. She was coursing with rage, and he wished he could lean on her strength as he had back on Scarif.

                “The planet was weapon-free. But their political influence has been great.” He watched her stalk to one end of the room and return. She stopped and fixed him with blazing eyes.

                “Well, we have to tell the others. I’ve just come back from med bay.” She was already at the door, ready to trample the sound of protest he made and evade the hand that extended towards her elbow.

                “Can we do that without the whole Base finding out?”

                She looked at him strangely, poised in the doorway. “Don’t you trust them?”

                Cassian waved the arm that he still held out in an exasperated gesture. “Of course I do, but there are the droids, there are all the other people who could overhear there!”

                Jyn stepped back across the threshold and let the door slide shut. Cassian relaxed his shoulders, raising the mug of caf to his mouth again. “We’ll go when you’ve finished your caf,” she said, waiting just inside the room.

                He sighed, but didn’t want the fight enough, so gulped down the rest of the drink and followed her through the door.

                In the turbolift she tapped on her datapad and he stood opposite her, leaning on the railing that went around the carriage, feeling resentful of the way the space between them gaped, and simultaneously thrown off-balance by his own resentment. He followed Jyn meekly to the med bay; they were both moving with customary determination, but their movements must have looked odd to others, their gait working its way through quicksand as they forced battered limbs into motion.

                Jyn pushed past droids and medics and Cassian tried to keep up with her, grimacing as he imagined her storming into the ward and announcing the news to the whole room.

                He needn’t have worried; she keyed the door to the ward shut behind them once she’d established that only Bodhi, Baze and Chirrut were present.

                Bodhi grinned at them, pushing himself up against his pillows; Baze frowned, but nodded his head; and Chirrut also made his way to a sitting position. Bodhi’s excitement faltered when he saw Jyn’s stony face, but it was Chirrut who Cassian couldn’t look away from. The monk frowned ahead of him, only loosely in the direction of where Cassian stood, but following Jyn more closely. His mouth followed a series of grim lines and he was the first to ask, “what’s happened?”

                Baze looked at Chirrut, something like hope crossing his face at any demonstration of his partner’s familiar intuitions. Jyn moved to sit on the edge of Chirrut’s bed and gestured Bodhi over. “I don’t want to say this out loud, sorry Chirrut,” she looked up at Cassian, who returned her gaze quizzically, walking slowly across to join the cluster of people. “This plast ward is not sound-proof, and this is top secret,” Jyn added, glancing at the white walls.

                She pressed the screen of her datapad on and held it out at an angle where both Bodhi and Baze could read the text there.

                Baze let out a deep growl, closing his eyes and leaning back. Chirrut extended a hand, and eventually Baze took it and squeezed. He brought his big head close to Chirrut’s face, cupping it with his other hand and murmuring in Chirrut’s ear. Cassian saw the monk’s face shift into the tight, scared expression he’d worn when they fled Jedha.

                Bodhi was still gaping at the screen, his mouth opening and shutting and his eyes going from the datapad to Jyn. Before any of them could say anything, there was a click and a swoosh as the door to the ward opened. A security detail peered in. Jyn thumbed the screen off and shifted her seat so that the datapad was less visible.

                “Jyn Erso?” the sergeant gestured at her.

                She’d frozen, her eyes automatically looking for exits. Cassian saw her react to the way the man had spoken; saw her recognise the tone that heralded confinement. He moved closer to the cot again, indulging his own fear, letting a hand come to rest on her shoulder as he and all the others watched and waited.

                “General Draven sends his apologies. As does Senator Mothma. But I’m afraid you’re to be confined to quarters for the foreseeable future.”

                Still no one moved. Jyn’s breathing had grown heavier, he could feel it through his fingers. She glanced up at him when he squeezed them gently, then she looked at the others. “No. Force’s sake, send me to the brig. If you’re going to discipline me, do it properly.”

                The officer blinked and looked at his second-in-command, who shrugged.

                “No, Jyn, _this_ is martyrdom. You mustn’t go,” the words got past his lips before he could stop them.

                Now the others shifted their wary, watchful stares to him. Jyn looked up at him incredulously. There was a dimple at the corner of her mouth as one end of her lips quirked up. “Captain Andor. You’re not telling me the unity of the Rebellion is second to whether I can’t sleep properly in one room as opposed to another?”

                There was vehemence in the way he shook his head. “No, I think the unity of the Rebellion won’t be affected one way or the other by such a petty gesture. And I think Senator Jebel is a coward who needs to make up his mind whose side he’s on.”

                Jyn’s lips pulled up into a fuller smile. She lifted his hand from her shoulder and stood up. “I’ve not been imprisoned as Jyn Erso before. At least it’ll be for doing something worthwhile. Even if the galaxy’s about to go up in flames anyway.”

                He felt something in his chest go taught, tugging after her as she walked away from them, offering her wrists to the security team, who looked alarmed and refused to act on the invitation. Jyn shrugged and left in the centre of the group, not quite managing to go without half a glance back over her shoulder.

                “Aren’t they going to arrest all of us?” Bodhi searched their group for an answer.

                Cassian met Baze’s accusatory stare and Bodhi’s pleading one. He shook his head, trying to find an answer that made sense. Tough, when he didn’t believe that one existed. “It’s for the council. It’s meant to reassure them that Rebellion forces won’t act without their agreement again.”

                “But I flew the ship! I lied to the comms officer,” Bodhi was standing, looking at the door Jyn had left through.

                Baze sighed and reached across Chirrut to pull Bodhi back by his left arm. Bodhi sat down again, more slowly than he’d stood, still looking at the door. “I mean, I’m an Imperial. Why not use me?”

                Cassian smiled despite himself. As he looked up he caught the softening of Baze’s face. The mercenary gave him his first smirk since they’d arrived on Scarif. “Bodhi, the Rebellion is full of defectors,” Cassian said softly, sitting next to Bodhi. “Most of our pilots were trained in Imperial academies. But Jyn led us. The Rebellion brought her here; it looks like a bad decision to some of the councillors. She’s come from an Imperial jail, and she’s got no one looking for her,” Bodhi was studying him so fiercely he thought he must see the regret he was trying to keep buried. “Like it or not, we didn’t even bring back what we went to Scarif for.”

                Bodhi held his gaze for a moment, silent and angry. Then his shoulders softened and he looked down. “We’re going to do something though, right?”

                Cassian studied the others, trying to gauge their thoughts. Chirrut looked pale and miserable, his brow was still creased as he lay heavily on the pillow, eyes directed at the ceiling. Baze held his hand in both of his, stroking the knuckles gently and watching Cassian in return, a grim turn to his mouth. Bodhi had asked the question, but he didn’t look up. The fingers of his surviving hand were restless as he waited.

                “What could we do, Bodhi?” He finally said, squeezing the other man’s arm for reassurance. “Steal a ship? Defect again? I don’t know about you three, but I can’t leave this fight, not after the news we just got,” he glanced at the datapad Jyn had left on the cot.

                Bodhi looked up with a grimace. “It’s awful. Are they going to destroy every planet that’s loyal to the Rebellion? I was meant to stop this…”

                “It’s not your fault.”

                Cassian looked at Chirrut with surprise; he’d been about to say the same words.

                Bodhi fidgeted on the edge of the cot so he could see Chirrut better.

                “Life is as the Force wills it. Balance will follow, no matter how it looks.” It was hard to know how much Chirrut believed his own words from the pained expression he still wore, or if they were for his benefit as much as Bodhi’s.

                Baze pressed his lips where his thumb had been on Chirrut’s knuckles. That elicited a wan smile from the other man, and Bodhi pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards his cot.

                “Stars I’m tired,” he groaned, flopping into the covers.

                Cassian took it as his cue to leave. He glanced at Chirrut once more as he did, half-hoping the guardian would confirm again that he’d see them all soon. But Chirrut’s eyes had fluttered closed and his face was turned towards Baze, who sat, as always, by his bed. Cassian dipped his head, reminding himself that he couldn’t afford to be a superstitious man, and he left the med bay for the second time that day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for panic attack.

The bunk in the Rebellion’s small brig was still too soft, but Jyn was tired enough to actually want to sleep by now. The room was narrow and dark, the walls damp with mosses and lichens, the smell of rust and chlorophyll heavy in the soupy air. Jyn curled around her knees under a thinner blanket than the one in the room she’d been offered and tried to imagine what fighting the security detail would have got her.

                The same thing, eventually, but with new bruises, she suspected. But usually she’d have done it anyway.

                She pulled on that thread, apprehensive about where it might lead, but needing to understand why she’d not just thrown a punch instead of following obediently. Somewhere in the confused whirl of her thoughts, in the shifting darkness of the room, it seemed like an answer was forming and reforming, just beyond her grasp, swirling like the dust on Jedha.

                It made her feel nauseous, but at the very least the news from Alderaan had brought her team back together. She tried to curl tighter into herself, holding onto the warmth she’d felt at the centre of their little group, huddled around Chirrut’s bed, glances between them all that didn’t need interpretation, that wordless _ease_ back again. Cassian’s hand on her shoulder.

                She wrapped her own hands around to her collarbones, trying to pin down the memory of the sensation. If he’d wanted to fight against her confinement, shouldn’t she?

                Jyn tried to imagine where that would have led; she couldn’t picture the words that would sway the council. Politicians needed to assign blame, to find root causes and to make assertions that problems would not reoccur, that mistakes would be learned from. She was the root cause of an act that had threatened the position of the council’s more ambivalent members, and she needed to be seen to be being punished for it.

                And there it was. Jyn wasn’t going to deny her role in Scarif, she wasn’t going to let anyone think she regretted it, even if the plans had never made their way back to Yavin 4. She’d done the only thing she could imagine doing, and she’d do it all again in an instant. She was happy to be their cause, their mistake, the problem the council wanted rid of. It reinforced her determination that she’d done the right thing. Fighting this pointless gesture would have given fuel to their beliefs that she was a one-note brawler, putting aggression before principles. Jyn had been that person in enough situations that she knew she didn’t want to be her now.

                And if she was reliving the steps that took her to Wobani in a new, alternate galaxy (fail to pull off a hit she believed in; get thrown away for it), at least she wasn’t betrayed by one of her team in this version. At least she had the cell to herself.

                And with the Death Star on the loose and the Rebellion constantly on the move, how long could they hope to keep her confined for? It would be a shorter sentence than any on an Imperial labour camp, however it ended.

…

                The clank of the door opening jolted her awake in a state of disorientation and panic. First, she thought it was Kennel, finally making good on her promise to kill her, and Jyn readied herself to kick out. Then, as she thought she was finally about to make a last, messy stand, the outlines of the room started to fade into clarity. The air she inhaled was hot and thick, the smell of vegetation and history on it was oppressive — everything about it was as different from Wobani as it could have been. Jyn wiped her forehead, remembering the leak in her cell back there; now she just felt sweat beading on her skin, and an insistent twinge in her right leg made her think suddenly of blue skies and white sands. The most intense week of her life flickered back into her memory and she let her shoulders unwind and forced calm into her features.

                A Rebel security guard stood in the doorway, stun baton in hand and eyes wide. She got the impression that the Rebellion didn’t hold many prisoners, and that those assigned to her guard duty were those who were not yet trained for active combat. One of Draven’s attempts at softening the blow, no doubt. The guard moved slowly, not taking his eyes off her as he pushed the door wider and revealed his second hand, holding a tray with a nutrition bar and mug of caf. He placed it slowly on the floor and swallowed nervously.

                “You have a visitor,” he croaked, straightening and stepping back, his hand flexing on the baton.

                Jyn was too bemused to say anything. The effects of a deep slumber still pawed at her and she didn’t care if her incredulous expression was only making the young guard more nervous of her. A small, satisfied part of her did wonder what he’d been told about her though.

                The figure who stepped through the door next had barely a shadow of the guard’s edginess. Cassian’s gait had his customary quiet caution, and the lines of his shoulders would always look ready for an ambush to someone who knew how it felt to live and work undercover, but she’d never seen him so at ease before. The impression might have been down to the loss of his high-collared jacket; he wore a knitted jumper that looked to be about four times too large for him, and might once have been described as brown, but now seemed to blend perfectly with the temple walls. He had a stack of datapads under his arm and an expression that was working up the courage to becoming a shy smile.

                Jyn sat up, trying to arrange her legs and blanket in a way that didn’t look like she’d just lost a fight with the covers. Then she saw the tray that had been left on the floor and began to launch herself off the cot to pick it up, but got only halfway before Cassian was lifting it, barely a hint of the pain the movement caused him evident in the lines around his eyes.

                She took it from him and shuffled back into the corner of her cot, pulling the blanket around her and gesturing an invitation for him to sit in the space she’d made. She’d eaten the nutrition bar and half-finished the caf before sleep cleared enough for it to occur to her to ask why he was there.

                The smile that played on his lips seemed to gain confidence from the question, and she took a deep drink of caf to stop her examination of the way it made the corners of his eyes soften and crinkle. “I still don’t think you should be here,” he said quietly.

                Jyn folded her arms over her knees and shrugged. “That’s not an answer. And wouldn’t I just prove them all right about me if I refused to co-operate?”

                He looked at the datapads in his hand with a snort that sounded more self-deprecating than anything, and he nodded. She found herself watching the way it made the hair over his forehead move, and tried to tuck herself smaller, further from him on the cot. But something like disappointment wormed its way into her chest when she saw his mirth fade as quickly as it had appeared.

                “Your behaviour … is continually unexpected.” He said the words as though they’d been forced from him; he didn’t look up at her.

                She held her breath, waiting to see whether he’d follow it up with anything; wondering whether she should ask him about Kaytoo, who had said those words to her just before they’d entered the vaults on Scarif. She’d never heard anything like it from Cassian; it felt like she’d been shown an open wound, had been let in on the existence of a grief that he was barely admitting to himself.

                The silence stretched, with Jyn watching him apprehensively and Cassian studying his hands in his lap, both perhaps wondering how to put away the fear, the loneliness, the want that his words had expressed; how to unsay or unhear them.

                “When did you meet Kay?”

                “Well, anyway, I brought you these.”

                Their eyes met again as their voices mingled together. He looked as uncertain as her question had sounded, and the loss she felt, of the clarity, the certainty they’d shared before this hesitant survival, was a throbbing ache deep inside her.

                His mouth looked pinched, and she saw something like the panicked defensiveness he’d worn when she’d confronted him after Eadu. But after a moment that felt like a face-off he gave a minute nod. “I reprogrammed him eight standard years ago.”

                Jyn let her lips turn down in a sympathetic grimace. It was as long as she’d been with Saw; as long as she’d been with her parents. It was a length of time that would leave a deep scar.

                Cassian had turned back to the datapads, checking both of them in order to avoid her sympathy. “You might not be able to change the council’s view of your actions, but I … I was working in the archives. I thought you might like to read these. Perhaps the Rebellion will benefit from more accurate records of them.”

                Jyn took the proffered datapads and thumbed the screens on, her head tilting with curiosity.

                The first held a short file, mainly text, with a set of appended intelligence reports. It was a dossier on her father.

                The second was longer, with a variety of attached files, including audio and holo-reports. It was the Rebellion’s file on Saw Gerrera. Jyn’s eyes flickered over it, catching glimpses of familiar names and places. She switched the screen off and looked up at Cassian, too many questions already forming for her to decide which one to ask.

                He was already standing, as though he’d been hoping to slip away whilst she was focussed on the information. He folded his arms, trying to regain some of the authoritative, angular sharpness that he’d faced her with so easily when they’d first met there on Yavin 4 a little over a week ago. Half turned from her, his shoulders gave a twitch that might have been a shrug, and he shook his head at himself again. “Well, you don’t know how long you’ll be here, right? At least you’ve got some reading material. And,” his face angled further away from her, so she could only see the curve of one cheekbone above his ragged stubble. “Your father would’ve been proud of you, Jyn.”

                Jyn heard her own breath catch, the datapads momentarily forgotten on her lap. She looked up at him, wishing he’d face her.

                Her fingers trembled, so she wrapped them into fists in her blanket. What a ridiculous assertion. How could he know something like that? How could he say that? No one had ever suggested such a thing to Jyn, not since—

…

“PK-47 was stuck in the sand again,” she mumbled at her feet. The black sands clung to her hands and itched where they’d worked their way up her cuffs. Her fingers were icy cold and her bitten nails hurt a bit where sea salt had gotten into the small wounds. Her trousers were wet up above her knees, and she was certain her mother would be annoyed she’d ruined her clothes when they’d been clean on this morning. But Lyra was smiling, in the way that made her face seem less sharp, her eyes twinkling. She bent to Jyn and brushed sand from her shoulders and clothes, then cupped her face and tweaked her wet pigtails. “If only PK was as careful as you are with the sea. Your father will be so proud of you digging him out again.” Jyn squirmed, but the thought that her father would be happy lit something warm up inside her. He didn’t always know how to talk to her, but her mother always made sure she knew what he wanted to say.

…

                Jyn bit her lip, watching Cassian move to the door. She wondered whether she should get up; stop him, say something, squeeze his hand, tell him ‘thank you’, or maybe ‘how dare you?’, see what was in his eyes when he’d said those words to her.

                But by the time she’d finally unfurled her knuckles and shoved blanket and datapads aside, her half-choked “no, wait!” was muffled by the door clanking closed.

                Jyn raised fists to her mouth and reeled back, the sound of the cell door reverberating through her in a way it hadn’t the night before. It was like stitches in a healing wound had been torn open; she felt her breathing speed up; her mind raced with memories of captivity, of every time a door closed on somewhere, or someone, and she was left on the wrong side of it, alone. She swore and paced, running hands through her hair and trying to find enough calm to decide whether it was better to sift through the memories assailing her, or to sweep them all aside and let her mind go blank with panic. Unable to settle, she was trapped in a swirling combination of anxiety and disjointed thoughts, the thick air in the cell never quite filling her lungs as much as she needed.

                Her pacing finally came to a stop when she propped herself against a wall, one hand up above her head where she bent, the other clutching her stomach and then her kyber crystal alternately. The hand on the wall flexed, claw-like, her nails scraping fragments of moss from the stone. She waited, and waited, trying not to fight the air that made it into her lungs, trying to remember what used to relax her when these attacks came over her before.

                Whatever it had been wasn’t to be found; instead she found lights flickering behind her eyelids, the fluorescents sending everything a greenish tint as her vision kept trying to adjust. Cassian, looking at her quietly, contentedly, his injuries almost forgotten in the satisfaction that _together_ they’d done what they’d come to Scarif to do. As the lights flickered she thought she also saw Baze’s eyes in the shuttle as they fled Imperial space, she saw every confident smile Chirrut had given her, and Bodhi’s relieved laugh whenever the smallest part of their plan had succeeded. But she kept coming back to the lift, to the calm at the centre of the storm, a moment that almost seemed to have taken place in a parallel galaxy.

 _Welcome home. Welcome home_.

                Her lips followed the words, and her hand gripped her crystal, but the room had finally stopped racing around her. The sense of falling had gone; she reminded herself that the door closing hadn’t been an abandonment, that he’d come here to visit her, he’d brought those datapads. A bridge between the galaxy before Scarif and after Scarif; before Saw had died and after; before her father had died and after.

                Tentatively, Jyn stood up straight and scraped the mossy nails of her right hand on her trousers. She turned from the corner and headed for the ‘fresher, wishing she had more caf, but letting curiosity about the files return as her breathing steadied, letting her questions about Cassian’s words and actions fade into the background. It was galling to be reminded how close to the surface so many of the worst moments of the last weeks still were, not to mention of all that had come before, but then again; no one claimed that bacta could fix everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU lovely people who've commented, left kudos and bookmarked(!!!). irl is kind of weird right now, and writing this might be more for me than anyone else, but it's so SO lovely to know that other people enjoy it or get something from it. You all rock. <333
> 
> Also sorry I promise something will happen eventually. Trying to work to an only slightly stretched version of the ANH timeline...


	7. Chapter 7

He was sighing too loud and too often. He knew because the elderly Bothan female who ran the archives kept twitching her ears. He retrieved his hand from its frustrated rummage in his hair and tried to cover the latest exhalation with a cough. The Bothan’s ears went flat and he saw her lip curl.

                The Rebellion’s archives were alternative to the Empire’s in almost every sense. As bases were always moving, they couldn’t afford to take stacks of hard-copy files with them; this was a digital fortress, with encryptions worked on and layered up by generations of Rebellion spies and technicians. Really, the room was more of a communal area for anyone working on research or data. It was a circular space in the temple, located at its centre, a floor up from the command room. The light in the archives was like that cast by the canopy of Yavin 4’s jungle, and all the desks and data consoles rotated out from the head archivist and her own console with its contrasting spectrum of leds.

                Cassian didn’t often have work that kept him on the base, but when he did this was a good place to come. The archivist was surly, but she liked him well enough because he always made a point of formatting his reports properly before submitting them. It was the only reason she’d agreed to letting him make copies of Saw Gerrera’s and Galen Erso’s files; that and the promise of an intelligence officer that both were dead and the data wouldn’t end up in the hands of someone who could use any of it against the Alliance. He thought she also held a measure of sympathy in the twitch of her soft ears; she was accustomed to verbal sparring with Kaytoo, and knew he’d been with Cassian through more base changes than she’d been in the Rebellion for.

                Now he sat uncomfortably in an old plast chair, the encryptions that Draven had handed him not quite complex enough to hold his attention as he worked through them. His mind wanted to be elsewhere; it was like someone kept tapping him on the shoulder, not letting him settle into the work. He was determined to ignore it though; he knew the questions he’d have to start asking himself if he acknowledged that insistent nag. It was nothing but a sequel to the morning’s restlessness.

                The archivist was growing impatient though. “Captain, take a different chair if that one’s not comfortable. Go for a walk. But please stop fidgeting in my line of sight.”

                The others working in the archives glanced from her to Cassian and then back down. Cassian’s face twisted grumpily but he stood, loudly gathering his work. The Bothan had tried to sound formidable, but her ears were settled softly again. He wondered how long he’d have to keep enduring the pity of anyone who was used to seeing him accompanied by a metallic, eight-foot shadow, or anyone who saw the discomfort of recent injuries in his movements. With a curt nod, he left the room, although he’d not planned where he’d go next.

                He found himself leaning on the railings of this level’s exterior platform. The stepped sides of the great temple loomed above and below him, but the vastness of the jungle and Yavin’s presence in the sky made the temple seem insignificant. The atmosphere of the planet was always too close, the smell of undisturbed layers of vegetation too cloying, but the colours were unmatched by any other planet he’d been to.

                It was the first time he’d had ground leave at Base One; the last time he’d been injured badly enough for it, the base on Dantooine was still in the process of getting its finishing touches. Though, during turnarounds between missions here, he might have shared a drink with Melshi or some of the other Pathfinders in the small cantina on base; or they might have told him about whatever the pilots were distilling in the hangar and he’d have met a few new orange jumpsuits, not bothering to remember the names of people he’d be unlikely to meet again. Rarely, Draven would share a glass of whatever bottle he kept in his desk; usually alongside some grim new piece of information he’d received. Yet these occasions were so diluted by everything else that he still felt as lost on this base as the rest of the _Rogue One_ crew probably did, although at least they were still cocooned in the med bay.

                Downtime was more commonly off-base, brief, and shared with only Kaytoo or some of his more trustworthy contacts. It was never a chance to relax; and at least in that sense, this time was no different.

                The day had begun well. He’d checked storage that he’d almost forgotten his room had had and found an ancient artefact: the jumper his father had left behind before his fateful mission to Carida. By rights, he should have lost it long ago. It was too big for him, still, and it was too thick for Yavin 4’s climate, but he felt exposed without his jacket, and it felt right to wear it in a way that hadn’t felt right for years.

                Looking down on the morning from this vantage point, he saw that it was probably something to do with grieving for Kay; he’d worn the damned thing for weeks before, hoping he’d get word from his father eventually, hoping that silence meant anything other than what it always meant. Now, he wanted to be irritated with himself, irritated that even the decision of what to wear should come back to the same thing that was threatening to overtake every conversation he’d had today. But it still felt too good to keep wearing it, so he accepted the irritation along with the undeniable need to keep it on.

                From there, the idea to take the files to Jyn had come upon him and not left him alone until he acted on it. There was no reason it would work for her like it had for him, but he’d fallen on the chance to read everything Draven had given him about his father when he’d been recruited. And the idea of sneaking a new account of Galen Erso’s life into the archives; telling of his subversion rather than his co-operation; well, that appealed in its own way too.

                And then he’d not been able to keep his stupid mouth shut.

                Cassian grimaced at the jungle. The reference to Kay’s words to Jyn on Scarif had bubbled up as a joke in his mind, turned deathly serious before he’d formulated the thought, and fallen from his mouth with the same inevitability he’d felt pulling on his father’s jumper and requesting the files of Saw Gerrera and Galen Erso. And if his self-restraint had already been made a mockery of, he finally found the words he’d been looking for since the top of the Citadel, when Jyn had turned the galaxy’s most deadly, winning, joyful smile on him after transmitting the plans.

                It felt like a door had opened between them that day, and now he couldn’t seem to remember how to close it.

                Yet he feared it had been a step too far to bring up her father directly. The file he’d given her would show precisely what he’d thought he’d known about Galen Erso up until a week ago, and he wasn’t certain how her emotions had settled regarding the argument they’d had after Eadu. But he’d said it, that was done. Maybe it had closed the door.

                He shut his eyes; that would be easier. He didn’t know what came next. Hated waiting. Either they’d all be found by the Empire soon enough, or he’d have time to heal, and from then on … back to missions for Draven? That wasn’t what he’d wanted after Scarif, not in any moment when he’d thought he’d survive Scarif. He was trying to imagine what could make a difference as big as those plans when the roar of an unfamiliar engine made him open his eyes.

                A large, flat Corellian freighter was beginning its swooping landing, circling the temple with intent. Cassian squinted; it was scorched and patched, and he could spot at least four modifications those freighters didn’t usually carry. He was sure if he’d seen the ship before he’d have recognised it, so who were these strangers arriving at the Rebellion’s most secret, secure base?

                He peered down, but the view of the hangar area wasn’t ideal from this side of the temple, so he decided to ditch the work he’d been doing for Draven and seek out answers.

…

“—and if my _esteemed_ colleagues on the council have a problem with it, they can take it up with me. You think I’m in the mood for the sithspit they’ve been spouting after the days I’ve just had? Jebel’s worried for his own skin, well, let him come and tell me how it’s a sacrifice he’s not willing to make and I’ll give him a piece of my mind. No, I don’t want to hear it Davits, now isn’t the time. My father would never have stood for this, this isn’t who we are, this isn’t how we treat people who’ve given their all to help us. I mean it’s not like any of you hesitated when that, that _mercenary_ came here demanding a reward for — stop fussing, will you? — we’ve got a job to do, and I want anyone who can help here, helping. Get those Jedhans, the others, whoever there is. There’s space enough in here. Jan, you know what needs to be done for the battle, prepare as best you can; I _know_ you’re missing the final piece, well, we’ll be looking into that in the meantime, won’t we Davits? What was it you said, a, a reactor meltdown? So get your team to start looking there, follow it until you find the flaw. What are you waiting for?”

                Leia Organa’s white dress was trimmed with stains no one wanted to name; her edges were frayed and steel was showing through the elegant veil she wore. Her cheeks were the high pink of the planet Yavin at sunset and she moved deftly between various well-meaning attempts to comfort her or redirect her to med bay; a mug of caf; a seat. She did not stop until the Generals had acknowledged her orders, leaving Mon Mothma to fill the space that had finally formed around her, offering the young senator a squeeze on the shoulders and whispering glad words in her ear. Leia breathed. She smiled. All wasn’t lost yet.

                Cassian had been watching everything from the edge of the command centre, his arms crossed and his smirk gaining strength the longer her tirade against Jebel and his bloc continued. Even as Draven approached Cassian, a shell-shocked smile on his lips, Cassian could hear Leia continue to Mothma: “ _How dare he? Raddus was there! I was there! Our fleet was there, this wasn’t some half-hearted mutiny, this was a council majority in action, doing what needed to be done despite the fact that too many of our allies want to be that in name only!_ ”

                “Captain,” Draven inclined his head, his eyes trailing away for a moment as his mouth pulled up.

                Cassian looked at Leia again and grinned back at his superior.

                “Looks like we’re going to have a fight on our hands pretty soon,” Draven observed. “And I’m guessing there won’t be much for us to do other than hope our pilots pull through.”

                “Evacuation?”

                Draven shook his head. “There’s too many here; not enough ships for everyone to go in a hurry. I knew having such a big base was going to come back and bite us. We’re just going to have to draw up priorities and hope this flaw is something we can exploit in the time we have.”

                Cassian nodded; even if there wasn’t any way he could help the combatants in action, this finally felt like an appropriate follow-up to Scarif.

                “But in the meantime, Captain, why don’t you go and give our guest and her team the good news?” Draven’s eyes twinkled. “As the Princess said, they’ll all be welcome in the command centre for the assault, and if any of them wants to lend a hand to the technicians scanning the plans we won’t say no.”

                “Sir.” He managed to force his body into a salute, and he thought Draven — poe-faced, pale, grim Draven — barked a laugh. He didn’t hear whatever followed it though; his feet were already carrying him to the far end of the temple, his mind too full of relief to bother about Draven’s automatic exclusion of Cassian from ‘Jyn’s team’.

                “Stand aside, Private.”

                The young security officer — a different one this time — jumped at Cassian’s approach, shook his head in confusion.

                “The sentence has been commuted. We have bigger problems; I suggest you report to your unit.”

                He looked like he thought he should challenge this, or ask for proof, or documentation, but Cassian knew how to make himself look like someone who shouldn’t be challenged. The officer took in his glower, the sharp slant to his stance, and decided that it probably wasn’t worth it.

                Once he’d moved, Cassian hammered the door’s release, too relieved to be there, to be doing so himself, to worry about how his earlier visit had ended.

                Jyn was sitting on the cool stone floor, legs stretched out under her bunk. A small holo flickered off when the door opened, and she lowered the datapad. She seemed to glow, even in settings as dank as the brig; skin pale as moonlight, hints of green in her eyes and red at her lips shining through. “Wha…”

                “You’re free again,” he interrupted, not even trying to hide the grin on his face.

                She frowned, but even though she muttered something in confusion, she got to her feet, retrieving her sleeveless jacket from the cot and tucking the datapads under her arm. She walked towards him slowly, and it took all his patience not to chivvy her out of the dark cell.

                “What is happening?” She stopped by him, close enough to reward him with the chance to look down into the shifting depths of her eyes.

                “The plans are here,” he couldn’t help the enthusiasm, he needed to feel her share it, let himself take her elbows in a light grip.

                Jyn didn’t move away, just blinked and looked at him, delight emerging onto her features from somewhere distant. “We have the plans? How?”

                “It’s impossible to tell this quickly. We can get the others. We can all help search them,” he applied a little pressure to the backs of her arms, starting to move.

                Jyn’s hands found his forearms, resisting his step. “What? What’s the hurry?”

                Finding stillness, seriousness, he held her questioning gaze. “The ship that brought the plans was tracked. We’re going to find the weakness your father designed, and we’re going to have a plan of attack before that … thing arrives here. We’re going to take it down, _now_.”

                She paled a little around her lips, and he saw a flicker of fear cross her eyes at last. But then she nodded sharply, readied herself like he’d seen her do on Jedha and on Scarif. “Okay. Okay, let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you lovely lovely people, several more chapters to come in one go - I was trying to write to the point where things start happening, so you weren't just getting chapter after chapter of introspective angst! Part of me would love to write the instant romance, but I'm having so much more fun writing pages and pages of uncertainty. Sorry! But hopefully you'll all enjoy Cassian and Jyn's emotional adventures through the destruction of the Death Star in the mean time :)


	8. Chapter 8

It arrived before the briefing was even finished. The light in the centre of the room changed, and red and green competed to drive grotesque shadows up the features of those who leant over the circular command screen. A second later, clone images updated on the datapads and screens that brought together the groups who stayed back from the main cluster. Her grip on the datapad tightened; someone squeezed her shoulder; someone inhaled sharply close behind her; on each side of her someone nudged closer. She stood at the centre of the Scarif survivors, wishing the flaw in her father’s work had been something she could activate herself.

…

The dark spaces in the room deepened forbiddingly once all the pilots and mechanics had trooped out. Clusters of faces were lit by screens: tense muscles, faces like clenched fists in the harsh contrast. Something like serenity reigned in the centre; the young Princess’s dress was washed clean by green lights; her expression a mask but for big brown eyes pleading at the console. Generals with folded arms knew not to show their apprehension, comms officers coiled tight with anticipation took their example and tightened their jaws. The disembodied voices of pilots and commanders began to fill the air, call-sign after call-sign that made Jyn aware she couldn’t picture a single face among those who had been in the briefing only minutes ago.

…

She took Bodhi’s left hand first. Chirrut’s grip found her arm slightly afterwards. The datapad she held stopped shaking so hard when his steadiness travelled down her limb, but she felt like the movement had only been buried somewhere deep inside her. The words crossed her mind: _we don’t have to stay here_ , but it was a lie too big to force out above the sounds of pilots dying. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. She’d not used a single open channel like this one for years; she’d not wanted or needed to hear how each end came. Kay had been bad enough. She didn’t even know these people, but she knew her mind: she knew it would file away each scream, each escalating cry for backup, or wearied groan of someone who knew their ship was finished, and every one would return to her in the silence just before sleep.

…

The whole group contracted together, bodies jostling and limbs mingling when a cry went up from the comms. Delight flashed brilliant and bold over the Princess’s face, and even the Generals let their shoulders drop with relaxation. The screens didn’t change though, and the silence of the other surviving pilots stretched. “Negative, it didn’t go in. Just impacted in the surface.”

…

Jyn figured she couldn’t stand much more of this, not when the new pilot — some bloody fool overconfident farmboy from nowhere — switched his targeting computer off. She thought she might be sick, was dimly aware of the panicked tone of Draven’s voice questioning the pilot, tried to push back through her little crowd, holding the datapad out for Bodhi to take. A solid force behind her brought support though, two palms open on her shoulder blades, pushing gently but insistently; maybe keeping her upright; maybe stopping the urge to flee. By the time she’d talked strength back into her legs, the comms had turned to a jumble of unfamiliar voices and howls. She winced, fearing the worst, noticed the screen on the datapad had gone red as the Death Star came into range. With horror, expecting this to be the end, she turned on the others, wished she could hold them all close, wished she had a hand to take each of theirs. Baze brought Chirrut to his side, tucking the blind man’s head under his chin; Chirrut was praying, his breath rapid, but his grip on Baze’s waist firm. Baze freed a hand momentarily to reach behind her and bring Bodhi close, but Jyn herself had been caught by a gravitational force that was irresistible. She smelt smoke and sea salt and ozone again, felt sandy ground make her step unsteady. There had been a space between them, but then Cassian’s arms swept around her waist and she reached up to his shoulders, burying her face in the scratchy material of the jumper he still wore. What should she expect? A sudden, impossible heat and light? Energy too strong for her body to contain, a death too hot to comprehend, too quick for her body to learn the language of the pain to be expressed?

                Instead, she heard laughter.

                Other bodies surrounded them, Bodhi nearly leapfrogging onto her back as his arm and stump embraced her shoulders from behind. Baze and Chirrut barrelled into them from the side. Everyone was shouting, gasping with relief.

                Having had her face pressed further into Cassian’s chest by Bodhi’s bodyweight, she had to push against the jumble of people to be able to move enough to look up. She saw his stubbled jawline, hair curling around the base of his neck, a dimple moving in his cheek as he said something to Bodhi, reaching over and around her to clap the pilot’s shoulder, ruffle his hair. To her right, Baze’s head was thrown back in a guffaw, but Chirrut was a place of stillness, his eerie blue irises focussed on her. He gave her the same winning smile he had given her back on Jedha and touched two fingers to his throat, nodding at her. Jyn smiled back, whether he could sense it or not, and brought her own hand to her kyber crystal. Somehow, his grin broadened, so she guessed he had seen, in his own way.

                “The Force is strong!” Chirrut declared, and Baze roared in response, grabbed him by the shoulders and planted a deep kiss on his lips.

                She _felt_ Cassian’s chuckle before she heard it, and nearly trod on Bodhi’s foot as she stepped back a little.

                People streamed all around them, more people than she’d been aware were in the room: some comms officers throwing their headsets in the air; the Princess speeding past them with her robes held out of the way of her long stride; droids shuffling and beeping and everyone running, racing for the hangar, to greet the heroes. The generals Dodonna and Draven stayed at the control centre, relaying orders and schedules, making sure all TIE fighters were mopped up, and confirming the numbers of med teams and landing spaces needed with the remaining comms officers.

                It still felt unreal to her; the screens had all faded to show nothing but Yavin and its moon on a white background. She wound fingers in the material of both Cassian’s and Bodhi’s clothes, pressing them to join her and calling out to Baze and Chirrut. “I don’t know about you, but I need to see this properly before I can believe it.”

                No one spoke as she led them through the corridors; they edged around the busy hangar and she marched out onto the landing fields, turning her head to the sky.

                As well as the heavy red sweep of Yavin, a part of the sky sparkled. There was no ghostly apparition turning its eye on them; the jungle breeze was as sluggish as ever and smelled of life; no hint of ozone, of atmosphere rent by laser fire. The only ships in the sky were roaring home triumphantly.

                Jyn stepped away from the others, her head up and hands clenched. It felt like she’d been punched in the throat. One hand came to her mouth to try and stop the whine or sob that was threatening to escape. The impact of her boots on the packed soil was enough to spill drops from her brimming eyes.

_Your father would’ve been proud of you_.

                Force, she hoped so. She thought of the last breaths her father had drawn, of his twitchy, gaunt form in the holo she’d seen on Jedha. He’d tried to smile on Eadu, but it had been a misshapen thing, full of regrets and questions. She was sure if she concentrated hard enough she might remember his real smile; something without the footnotes of pain and grief and confusion. He’d be smiling now, at peace seeing that the project he’d despised was gone. Really, actually _gone_.

                Bodhi drew in line with her, and she flinched, wanting to turn her face away, but then she noticed his wet cheeks.

                “Galen did it, he really did it,” he was saying, nodding a bit too long, incredulity in his voice.

                Jyn just nodded back; if she let herself smile there was no knowing how she’d lose control over the rest of the things clamouring to show on her face. She turned back to the glittering specks in the sky, and so did Bodhi, leaning on her companionably. After a few moments’ silence, during which she slowly, determinedly wound the threads of emotions back inside her chest, she was able to wipe roughly at her cheeks without prompting more tears to flow. She took a deep breath and turned back to the other three.

                Baze and Chirrut were still folded together, arms around each other, Baze’s beard ruffling Chirrut’s short hair as they moved a little on the spot. Chirrut murmured something meant only for Baze’s ears. Cassian stood apart, his arms crossed over his chest and his face tight despite the smile on his lips. He looked away quickly when Jyn turned, his eyes having been on her back, but his stare flickered back to her momentarily.

                “So…” Bodhi shrugged and glanced around, but finished the survey with Cassian. “So, what happens now? I mean … that’s not it. Of course it’s not.” He laughed nervously, trying to disguise the hope in his voice.

                Cassian’s expression softened a bit and his smile widened, but he shook his head. “No, but it’s bought us some time. Time enough to find out what sort of rot-gut the pilots have been hiding from the rest of the base and unwind a bit. Maybe even celebrate; we won’t be evacuating immediately, we need more transports before it can happen.”

                “Celebrate…” Bodhi breathed, repeating the word to himself, trying out the sound of it as he and Jyn walked back towards Cassian and the guardians. “I like that,” said Bodhi. “I don’t know when I last did something worth celebrating.”

                Jyn smiled at the earth and shouldered him playfully.

                “Hey, oh — you mean we’re not gonna get a hero’s welcome of our own?” Bodhi followed up. “With medals and speeches, and an apology for locking Jyn up?” He stood a bit taller, spoke with a bit more levity than she’d heard from him since the few snarky comments he’d unleashed on their journey to Scarif.

                Cassian chuckled, falling into step with them on Jyn’s left as Baze led Chirrut to Bodhi’s right. “What? What did the Empire tell you about us? We don’t give medals out; you’re here to do the right thing, Bodhi, what more reward could you want?”

                Bodhi groaned and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion, and Jyn felt a laugh spill from her lips; she was so surprised at the noise she made herself cough to hide it. They weren’t heading for a dangerous mission; they weren’t huddling together from news of further destruction; they weren’t united under a sky that contained the Death Star any longer. But it felt like the most easy, natural thing at that moment: to walk amongst friends and to simply be glad.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW alcohol!

“So was that a lie, or…?”

                Cassian shrugged expansively and rolled his eyes as pointedly as Bodhi had only hours ago. “Well there’s never been one before!”

                Baze pulled a face and took a swig from his bottle. “Sure, but there’d never been a Death Star before.”

                “Or rumours of the Jedi returned,” Chirrut beamed.

                Cassian folded his arms defensively but still managed to take a sip from his own drink. “Or a senior Rebel whose whole planet was obliterated right before her eyes. This is about memorialising Alderaan, it’s not about rewards.”

                “You tell that to the smuggler, what’s his name; Solo? Did you hear what the Rebellion paid him?” Jyn scoffed, pulling a swig from the beer that the Base One cantina had thoughtfully delivered through to the hangar. She’d overheard Solo’s reward being discussed when she’d last moved through the hot, loud building in search of drinks for herself and the others.

                They stood at the edge of the rabble that filled the hangar, just beyond the confines of the temple. Chirrut struggled to concentrate on their voices if they ventured into the noise inside, and they all felt the same uncertainty about who knew their faces, who knew what they’d done, and who thought what about it. Even Cassian seemed reluctant to seek out others to share the celebrations with. For now, this sober, they all felt more at ease on the fringes of the celebration, more able to indulge in their own perspectives on how they’d got to this point.

                The Princess had just made an announcement over the hangar’s comm system about a celebratory memorial service for Alderaan that was to be held within the coming days; at it, those who had contributed to the destruction of the Death Star would be honoured and awarded the newly minted Alderaanian Medal of Resistance. Jyn didn’t begrudge the young woman her ceremony, but part of her wanted to shout out over the crowd that Galen Erso deserved to be remembered alongside all the names that were more familiar to the Rebellion.

                But now she saw the small, glowing form of Leia Organa pushing her way through the crowds, brushing off commiserations, congratulations and any other attempts to engage with her with the civil efficiency of someone long used to public life. Shaking hands, nodding and exchanging words here and there hardly slowed her progress down at all.

                Jyn looked up at Cassian uneasily; he saw Leia approaching too and stood a bit straighter. Bodhi’s expression was one of awe, and even Baze composed himself somewhat. Chirrut looked to the rest of them to understand their reactions, unable to pinpoint one unfamiliar body in the morass within the temple. Baze leaned and whispered in his ear, but kept his eyes fixed on the Princess, who was finally reaching the thin clusters of people at the edge of the hangar.

                “Please accept my apologies for not warning you before the announcement,” she began as she reached their little circle. Her voice was rich and warm, made Jyn think of polished, dark wood that matched the Princess’ eyes and hair. Her smile was kind, but she thought it was also part of the armour of a public persona; although she could make her eyes smile with her lips, Jyn recognised a tautness under the expression.

                “Your Highness,” Cassian nodded, dipping his gaze to the ground.

                Baze and Bodhi exchanged glances and did the same. Chirrut’s eyes were averted, but his roguish smile was like the one he’d drawn Jyn in with back in Jedha City market. Jyn, for her part, just waited.

                Leia rolled her eyes and made an exasperated sound — for a moment, the image of the teenager she still was. “Captain Andor, please. I came here to tell you that you are all going to be included in the ceremony. The Rebellion owes you so much more than I can express. Without those plans … well, let’s just say I’m sorry to have kept you waiting on their delivery. And we couldn’t reward the pilots without rewarding those who told them where to aim.”

                Jyn looked at Baze and Bodhi, aware that Leia’s eyes were now on her. She felt cornered; how could she tell this woman that she didn’t want her awards ceremony? How could she reject a medal given in commemoration of the lives lost before they could stop her father’s weapon? How could she say that suddenly, when faced with this, all she wanted was to retreat to the security of a mission, an activity with a purpose, with a _good_ , worthwhile goal, that she could achieve alongside the only people in the galaxy she’d felt comfortable around in years? Before she could find the words — she’d never felt confident with words — it was Cassian who spoke, contradicting his earlier assured statement.

                “Your Highness, I … I cannot accept the honour. The Rebellion has been my life, and — whatever I have done, unquestioningly, _willingly_ , for the Rebellion … Scarif was reward enough. To be a part of something that …” his speech, faltering to begin with, seemed to escape him. He still looked at the ground.

                Jyn studied the Princess’ reaction. She was composed, as ever, but the shadow of something seemed to gust over her expression. Jyn wondered whether maybe the Princess herself would much rather be somewhere else, with other people, grieving how she chose for the loss of so much. But here she was, asking them to join her in providing a show of solidarity, to give reassurance to a much-depleted Rebellion that had nearly torn itself apart over its response to the Death Star, to acknowledge a victory for what it was, and to let everyone on board know that the fight had been worth it, and would continue to be worth it.

                At her age, recently abandoned by Saw, Jyn had been a raw, vicious mess. She couldn’t imagine how Leia was holding herself together so well in the face of what had happened to her.

                Looking around her friends, Jyn knew that it would be all of them or none of them. Cassian’s hands had fallen to his sides when Leia had arrived, and as his drink was in his far hand she was able to reach out and take the hand closer to her. She folded her fingers around it, gripping tight, thinking of how much she’d needed the squeeze of Chirrut’s hand when they’d left Eadu and hoping that she could give some comfort from the gesture.

                “I … don’t think this is for us,” Jyn tried, and saw a flash of hurt in Leia’s eyes before she could push through the jumble of meaning she’d meant to apply to the words. “I, I mean, the ceremony isn’t for _us_. It’s for the Rebellion. It’s a … focal point? For people to,” Jyn looked desperately at Leia for what she was trying to say.

                The younger woman’s shoulders relaxed and Jyn saw a genuine smile of relief cross her features. “Yes, a focal point. So we can celebrate this victory properly, memorialise it alongside the loss of Alderaan. My … my home planet was a staunch member of this Rebellion. I want the whole Alliance to know that I’ve never encountered an Alderaanian who shied from standing up to the Empire. No one could have imagined that this would happen; but Alderaan would never have capitulated to save itself.” Leia seemed to swallow down something unpalatable as she said the last words, losing eye contact with Jyn for the first time.

                Conviction didn’t quite resound from all of her team yet, so Jyn persisted. “But, perhaps, we could have a less central part in it? We’re not … well, we’re not Luke Skywalkers. We’re not going to scrub up that well.”

                “Speak for yourself,” Baze smiled at her, but she saw gratitude lurk around the steadiness of his gaze.

                Leia’s lips parted in a small laugh and her cheeks flushed. “I understand,” the rounded warmth had returned to her voice, and she knitted her fingers in front of her professionally. “No presentation of medals — though I can’t promise that you won’t end up with them anyway — but we’ll have you on the stage where people can still see our bravest new members.”

                She let her acceptance of what Leia had said roll over her; the need to keep running and keep changing seemed to have died on Scarif, when she was finally settled with being addressed as Jyn rather than Liana. If the Rebellion would soon have its fill of locking her up and parading her through ceremonies, then she could find the niche in this vast organisation that worked for her. She would find jobs to do that would keep her from bumping into the Rebellion’s power structure as often as possible though.

                Jyn checked with the others; Chirrut had maintained his smirk, and Baze put an arm around him with a nod that seemed to finalise matters, returning to his bottle once he’d done so. Bodhi looked at her with the same request for permission in his eyes that she remembered from their take-off from Yavin 4, and grinned back at her smile of encouragement. Cassian turned his head slightly, though he still kept it bowed. He looked at her from the corner of one eye and gave her hand a squeeze in return, the barest hint of a smile making his moustache twitch.

                She attempted a nonchalant shrug for Leia. “I guess we can work with that, yeah.”

…

“So what’s happened?”

                It was months since she’d drunk alcohol; she was trying to pace her drinking, but she was out of practice at that, too. She’d felt out of her own skin for so long that the relaxation provided by the drink was too seductive to resist. And after all, didn’t she deserve the celebration?

                Jyn eyed Cassian. He’d been controlling himself to a professional degree after the Princess’ visit; he hardly seemed to have had a drop, even though the bottle in his hand was nearing emptiness. So she wasn’t sure she was willing to answer his question. She shrugged, taking a swig from her beer as she turned to survey the temple.

                Alcohol seemed to have loosened everyone else’s hesitance to get involved, too. Baze was laughing uproariously at something a Wookiee had just told him. The Wookiee was gesturing alarmingly with a bowcaster, and the newly arrived smuggler, Solo, was rolling his eyes at the two of them, his flailing hands somewhere between translation and exasperation. Across the crowd, she saw Bodhi mingling with people in orange jumpsuits, exchanging stories with an earnest expression on his face.

                Out in the night air, when Jyn turned back to it, she could see the Skywalker boy pacing alongside Chirrut, heard his rapid, demanding questions answered by a murmur that seemed to blend with the noises of the jungle beyond them.

                So long as she could see them all, she was content. But she had no intention of circulating with the Rebels herself. Her team was still her team; everyone else was still untested. She assumed Cassian was simply avoiding discussions about Kaytoo, or else he’d be off catching up with old comrades as well; not bothering her with questions that came out of the blue.

                “Jyn?”

                She tilted her head, then straightened it. Thought about having another drink, then made her arm lower. She was meant to be pacing herself. “What? What’s happened what?” she gave in, but her voice sounded more petulant than she wanted.

                “You didn’t pitch a fit when Draven told you about the council? You agreed with Princess Organa, one of the most senior members of the Rebellion, that an _awards ceremony_ could be justified? It just seems at odds with, I don’t know, with your file, or with the decision to push on with Scarif…” He raised his eyebrows and quoted her, “‘I rebel’?”

                Jyn narrowed her eyes as she watched him talk. Maybe he wasn’t as sober as she’d supposed; his gentle lisp was a little more pronounced, and the line she could draw between his thoughts and the words that emerged from his mouth was far more direct than normal.

                “Because refusing the only survivor of a planetary disaster for the preservation of my own dignity seemed a bit, I dunno, churlish?” she pulled a face and shrugged again. “Because I’m not ready to dump … all you guys, all this, whatever … yet. Because I survived. And this time maybe I can make it mean something. For myself, not for Saw, or my father.” She took a deep draught of the beer, looking for that sense of security in herself that it had been giving her. Damn Cassian, making her doubt herself.

                He nodded thoughtfully at her answer. He was leaning on a crate; she could see the occasional shake in one of his legs as the day’s standing caught up with his injuries. “But you’d still have done it all? Up to Scarif?”

                She scrunched up her face again. “Well, I’d have tried to pick a better team on Corulag. Getting sent to a labour camp wasn’t something I’d ever intended to do. That being said, if I’d ended up there anyway I can’t promise I wouldn’t still have hit Melshi with a spade and taken my chances. But after that, if I’d ended up here, then sure. Wouldn’t change a thing.” Again, she tried to wash the words out of her mouth with beer, as though the drink could unsay everything. She hoped her forced nonchalance was enough to make the questions stop.

                “And you’re staying?”

                No such luck there, then. She rolled her eyes and leant back on the crate next to him, craning her neck up to the stars. The occasional jet of light sparkled across the sky as debris from the earlier battle struck the atmosphere. “For now. We’ll see. It depends what I can do. As long as I can do something worthwhile, as long as it works out…”

                “Even taking orders from Draven, or someone else?”

                Jyn leaned her head on her right shoulder and looked at him with raised eyebrows. She was sure he was just toying with her, all these pointless questions just there to annoy her. His expression seemed amused enough that it was likely. “I obeyed Saw Guerrera’s orders for eight years! I’m not completely incapable, you know…” she muttered into her bottle. “I used to thrive on the praise of my superiors. Once upon a time.”

                Finally, he looked away from her, fidgeted against the crate and took a swig of beer. Jyn felt it was time she got her revenge though.

                “And you? What’re you doing here, bothering me with all these questions? Is this an interview? Why aren’t you off catching up with other Rebels?” she meant the questions playfully, she really did, but with her there was always an edge, and it wasn’t as well covered as she’d have intended it to be after so much drink.

                He was patient though, and he was used to hiding his responses. His mouth tightened a bit when he squinted at the ground, and he fidgeted again, unable to get his hips comfortable against the hard surface. “What other Rebels should I be catching up with?”

                She waved an open palm, “I don’t know, there must be people you see between missions? It’s a cause greater than any one being, right? So there are plenty of people to share that camaraderie with?”

                He gave a mirthless snort and rubbed long fingers through his beard. “Sure, there were a few maybe. They didn’t make it off Scarif.”

                Jyn felt bile in her throat. She wanted to punch herself, or smash her bottle against the hard ground. Force, she must have had more than she’d thought. Why, when she already knew who had died, was she punishing him for staying there, with her, on a night they should have been celebrating the end of the Empire’s superweapon?

                Instead, she tried to maintain the casual tone. “No way. You must have other friends here.”

                He leaned his own head back, bracing his palms against the crate to either side of him. He said nothing, but looked at her out of the side of his eye, and gave her the same knowing, humourless smile she remembered from the first time they’d met.

                As the silence between them stretched, filling with the sounds of people laughing, socialising, interacting like normal beings, she found herself grow very, very tired. She didn’t have the energy to push any further.

                Cassian saw her put down her weapons and released her from his sideways gaze. “Point taken though. No more questions.”

                “Thanks,” she mumbled, bumping her bottle against her lips again and cursing to find it empty.

                She pushed off the crate and showed him the empty bottle. “Shall I bring you one?”

                The memory of his small smile of acknowledgement, of the way his dark eyes burned into her, was in front of her for her whole, dazed journey to the centre of the hangar.

                When it emerged that the beers were gone, she accepted a bottle of something clear and viscous-looking from a man with a grin like a vibroblade and blue eyes that were full of mischief.

                “Hey, you’re Jyn Erso, right?”

                She glared at him, waiting for him to release the other end of the bottle.

                “Janson,” he introduced himself.

                She tugged at the bottle pointedly. “Nice to meet you Janson, now give me my drink.”

                The man shrugged and let go, but his grin remained. “Cures what ails you – and I should know!”

                Jyn shot another foul look over her shoulder and she stalked back to the hangar entrance. Something had made her glow happily only a moment ago, and it had been trampled on by Janson’s attempt at charm. Nudging people out of her way, she was relieved to return to the cooling night air. What had it been?

                She caught Cassian’s look of relief when he saw her approach. She returned her own rakish grin and raised the bottle. “I believe this is the famous rot-gut you mentioned? Beer’s all out.”

                She plonked herself back beside him against the crate and twisted the unsealed lid from the bottle. “Force, smells like X wing fuel…”

                “It probably is,” Cassian agreed, taking the bottle from her whilst she winced at the taste of what she’d just sampled. His face crinkled in response to the mouthful he took, but he nodded as he offered it back to her. “It’s one of the better batches I’ve tried. Probably only a fifty percent chance of temporary blindness.”

                As she looked at the bottle, Jyn realised that the little finger on her right hand was touching Cassian’s left hand minutely. She decided not to raise her right hand to take the booze, and reached across with her left instead. The twist of her body made the touch between them firm, and Cassian looked down at it.

                As Jyn raised the bottle to her lips again, he slid his left hand over hers, gently nudging his fingers between her own digits. She smiled against the bottle, but neither looked directly at the other when she handed it back across them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters are getting longer, aren't they? Sorry!
> 
> Also I couldn't resist putting my original Star Wars love in there. Wes Janson, for me, always has the personality of the Stackpole/Allston novels, and he looks like Edvin Biukovic's gorgeous illustrations for The Phantom Affair - though I'm not sure where the blue eyes are from (one of the other comics? One of the novels? I feel a re-read coming on), still, none of this brown-eyed nonsense from Wookieepedia! ;) In the old canon it used to be true that Janson missed the Battle of Yavin be cause he had a fever of some sort; here, it's been cured by strong alcohol. PSA: booze does not cure what ails you. Nope. Don't be like Janson, kids.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last update for today - jeez Cassian, why do you have about five times as much to say as all the other chapters? Sorry, self-indulgent, unedited rambling ahead! But at least we'll soon be off Yavin 4 and into some...plot? Adventures? Things happening? As always, thanks you so much for reading if you've stuck with it this far!

“…you were really very insistent, I think they were quite touched.”

                Cassian looked down at the two mugs of caf in his hands and then back at Bodhi, who was bending over a pair of booted legs emerging from behind a crate, proffering his own mug to Jyn, whose face was not visible.

                A groan came from the other side of the crate, and he approached them, summoning a smirk as Bodhi looked up. “Great minds think alike,” Cassian shrugged at the mugs he held.

                Bodhi’s eyes widened. “Ohh, actually, I just saw her still here when I was crossing the hangar. I got this for myself.”

                As a pair of pale hands reached out and plucked the mug from Bodhi’s hands, Cassian offered the pilot one of the mugs he’d brought instead.

                “Thank you,” Bodhi said with emphasis, raising the mug instantly to his mouth. “She might be suffering more than me, but from where I’m standing it’s less than certain.”

                Cassian peered around the crate to see Jyn sitting precisely where she’d decided she was going to sleep last night. She’d given her room card to Baze and Chirrut, who had been denied the right to refuse it, and she’d claimed she’d be more comfortable on the hangar floor anyway. Her face was even paler than normal and there were dark hollows under her eyes. She gritted her teeth at the taste of the caf and looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

                “If I ever find that man, _Janson_ , who gave me that bottle of starfighter fuel, I will _kill him_ ,” she ground out. Then her eyebrows knotted down. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself? You drank half the bottle too…”

                He didn’t answer, but at least her eyes were closed so he didn’t need to worry about letting his grin broaden. Truth be told, Cassian was feeling the aftereffects of the celebrations too, but one of the less hazy memories had been Jyn’s determined handing over of her room card, and it seemed to plane the sharp edges off the pain in his head. He glanced at Bodhi curiously though. “Where did you end up? Back in med bay?”

                Bodhi shook his head, then winced at the movement. “Nah, I think they’re pretty swamped again. I used the pilot’s hammock in the shuttle.” He gestured over this shoulder at the ship they’d stolen on Eadu. “I was just going to go and pack it away actually, I couldn’t stomach the mess hall for long.”

                “Do you need help?” Cassian asked over his mug.

                Bodhi opened his mouth and his head twitched as though he were about to refuse. “…actually, that would be great,” he shrugged his stump, then gestured with his left hand to a bruise on his hairline. “It took a few goes, but I got into it through drunken determination. But folding it away is going to be a nightmare on my own.”

                Cassian turned to Jyn, whose eyes were still closed, but who looked a little more serene now that her mug of caf was halfway empty. “Can you stand?”

                “What, you need my help, too?” she complained; though she also shifted experimentally, judging whether getting up seemed like a good idea or not.

                He held out a hand to her, and watched her expression change as she regarded it. Colour was returning to her lips with the caf, and they parted a little as a memory returned to her. He held his breath as he waited, but she slowly extended her own hand, her rough palm sandpapery against his. In response to the flash of pink at her cheekbones he felt his own neck grow warm, but his head was too fuzzy for him to start demanding answers from himself yet.

                She got her feet under her quickly, but he still felt the strain in his legs and back. Jyn saw it and adopted another pained expression. “Sorry,” she breathed, almost too quiet to be heard.

                He shrugged it off, caught between an unfamiliar feeling of pride and the more natural fear he had of looking any of his emotions in the eye.

                The three of them traipsed out through the forest moon’s bright morning; the gas giant Yavin hadn’t reached their part of the sky yet, and the system’s bright yellow sun burnt through the forest mists without restraint. It made the dark throbbing in his head feel worse, but the pain simultaneously mattered less to him.

                Cassian saw Jyn crack a small, grateful grin at the zeta-class shuttle as they approached it. It was an ugly type of vessel even when brand new; this one had probably been through atmospheres as rough as Eadu’s hundreds of times. It was dented and scratched by unknown elements, and the rust on its wide, flat belly would need treatment sooner rather than later. But all three of them touched their palms to the side of its body with reverence as they entered up the landing ramp.

                Cassian and Bodhi descended into the cockpit whilst Jyn sat at the top of the ladder, her legs dangling and caf cradled in her hands.

                As he started unclipping and rolling the hammock away, with Bodhi’s unnecessarily detailed instructions, Jyn called down: “did you hit your head on the overhead console, or go right over onto the pilot’s seat?”

                Bodhi grinned sheepishly up at her. “Both. It took a few goes to get in, like I said.”

                The image of Bodhi trying to launch his body into a swaying hammock, hampered by booze and the lack of one limb, make Cassian pause and raise an eyebrow at him. “Why didn’t you just sleep in the pilot’s chair?”

                He shrugged, “you’re telling me that would have occurred to you in the small hours of the morning?”

                Cassian snorted, shoving the rolled hammock back into its storage panel. “Hey, I’m clearly the only on here without an aversion to sleeping in an actual bed.”

                “I don’t have one!” Bodhi protested, then rubbed his temple, grimacing at the sound of his own voice.

                “Oh, is _that_ why you’re not as hungover?” Jyn grumbled from above them.

                Rolling his eyes, trying not to remember the way Kaytoo always groused about every detail like this, Cassian turned from the panel and gestured for Bodhi to climb the ladder before him. When the three of them returned to the hangar, he suggested that he lead them to the quartermaster’s office. Trailing Jyn and Bodhi to the curious glances of the few other Rebels who were awake and wandering the corridors, he supposed they’d see he’d lost one shadow but picked up two new replacements. It was a comfortable, reassuring thought, even though he told himself it shouldn’t have been.

                The quartermaster was a Quarren, the sheen on whose skin was distinctly lacking, and whose lids were heavy over turquoise eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure what a hangover looked like on a Quarren, but thought he must be witnessing one now. She moved her tentacles sluggishly when Cassian marched into her office trailing wide-eyed Bodhi and Jyn, hunched and grim. Her gaze flickered over a datapad in front of her before she spoke.

                “Captain Andor. And, comrades from the Scarif assault, I take it?”

                He introduced them, then paused, trying to decide how to explain what had happened to the luxury room already assigned to Jyn. The quartermaster cut him off before he could begin, though.

                “We’ve received notice this morning that the memorial ceremony has been pushed ahead to tonight. Transports have been scrambled to begin evacuating the planet immediately afterwards. As _Rogue One_ is crewed and in need of modification or repairs, I expect you’ll be reporting to Admiral Ackbar in the fleet before you’ve any need of lodgings. We’re going to get crowded down here with people arriving just for the ceremony; be glad you’ve your own ship, but expect to be taking passengers back to _Home One_ anyway.”

                Cassian didn’t like being given news that he should already have known about. He’d left his datapad in his room; any details of a transfer from Draven’s command to Ackbar’s would no doubt have come through there. He gestured to the Quarren’s datapad, trying to filter the information she’d given them. “May I see?”

                Her tentacles twitched, but with a gargling sound he presumed was a sigh, she handed him the datapad. The schedule looked frantic, with people being shuttled down to the planet from the fleet just for the ceremony, before evacuation and clear-up began in earnest. When he scrolled through to the call-sign they’d been allowed to keep, the symbol next to _Rogue One_ confirmed the Quarren’s words; they were to go off-planet in the first wave to join the fleet. Before he could thumb through for further details, the quartermaster’s sucker-tipped fingers latched back onto the pad and reclaimed it.

                “Thanks,” Cassian managed, turning grumpily and ushering Jyn and Bodhi back the way they’d come.

                “The ceremony’s _tonight_?” Bodhi groaned, spreading his arm wide and looking down at his battered, patched Imperial flightsuit.

                Jyn was silent and pale, her arms folded across herself as though she were cold.

                Cassian surveyed them both. He’d failed to get them rooms, but it dawned on him that he could still help. It was a strange revelation; he’d never had to think about these things with Kay (although maybe sourcing oil and parts when needed was something similar), and had largely made a point of avoiding new recruits when on base. “Bodhi, I can lend you clothes for tonight. Jyn,” he forced something down in his chest as he looked at her miserable expression. “You need sleep. You can have my bunk for the day.”

                She blinked and a frown passed over her face. “Thanks,” she murmured.

                “Seriously? Thank you!” Bodhi was more effusive, giving his arm a squeeze and nodding happily.

                Within a few minutes they were crowded into his small, dark quarters. Cassian grumbled to himself as he pushed past his dress uniform to find Bodhi a shirt and trousers. He’d have to wear the damned dress uniform tonight, and he hated it. But as Bodhi didn’t have anything similar he’d pass in something that was simply clean and not too patched. Bodhi didn’t always hold himself as tall as he could, but he was closer to Cassian’s height than he seemed. Satisfied that he’d found clothes that didn’t bear any obvious, recent abuse, Cassian handed them to the grateful pilot.

                Jyn stood just inside the doorway; she looked as motionless with the hangover as she had in the quartermaster’s room, but he saw her eyes surreptitiously take in everything. “Jyn?” he repeated the door code to her; there were no room cards on this floor. When she’d nodded acknowledgement, he picked up his datapad and followed Bodhi around her to the door. “No boots in the bed, that’s all I ask. Sleep.”

                Slowly, she moved to the edge of the bed and sat to remove her boots. Her eyes flickered up once, and she might have dipped her head again in thanks, but Cassian turned quickly and trailed out after Bodhi. He directed the other man to the sonic showers on that level of the temple and pushed the thought of Jyn curling up softly under his bedclothes out of his head. He made himself concentrate on his datapad, which was flashing up an alert.

                When he opened it, it was not what he was expecting.

                He moved to the edge of the corridor and put a hand out on the wall without removing his eyes from the screen. There were orders for him, but the orders came from General Cracken, via Draven; not from the fleet. It was a steady mission, taking account of his recent injuries, but it sent him — and him alone — on a recruiting and information-spreading drive throughout systems that were thought to be ready to defect to the Alliance. In the wake of Alderaan, with the right information and a nudge backed up by Cassian’s personal experience, there would be people lining up to offer their support.

                But he couldn’t go. He swallowed around something hard and pressed his body into a disciplined shape, marching in the direction of the turbolifts.

…

“Ah, Captain. Any questions about your mission?”

                Draven didn’t look up from the sheets of flimsiplast he was flicking through. He leant against his desk with one hip, ever-present mug of caf in his hand. Cassian couldn’t tell whether Draven was suffering any aftereffects from the celebrations the night before; he was as pale and professionally unreadable as ever.

                “Actually sir,” Cassian swallowed again. He didn’t know how to say what he needed to say. He’d been Draven’s man since joining the Rebellion around a decade ago; sometimes he thought Draven saw himself as something of a father figure to him, having personally recruited Cassian from his rabble of insurrectionists in the Outer Rim.

                Alert, therefore, to any change in Cassian’s own demeanour, Draven looked up with a suspicious frown. “What is it?”

                Cassian tried to maintain eye contact, but found it made things even more difficult. His lips firmed into a sharp line and he felt the screen of his datapad bow under the pressure of his thumb. But before he could answer he heard Draven’s sigh. He looked up to see that the caf and the work had been abandoned: Draven’s arms were folded and he surveyed Cassian with a curious expression.

                “Well, it’s been an interesting couple of weeks, hasn’t it?”

                Cassian managed to bring his face up to Draven’s again. He still wasn’t sure what words to look for.

                “I can allocate you a partner? We’ve plenty of young officers who could use the training, would benefit from your experience…?” Draven’s tone was perfunctory, as though he already knew what the answer would be. At Cassian’s pained smile, Draven allowed himself a mirthless chuckle. “No, that would be worse, wouldn’t it?” He uncrossed his arms and leaned back on his desk, his fingers rapping on the edge in a rare sign of unease. “Look, Cassian, you’ve been one of my best for years now. If you think the Rebellion’s not been grateful enough, if the things you’ve done haven’t always … merited public ceremonies. Well, you know that they were no less necessary. They got us to this point quicker than the political solution alone would have.”

                “I know, sir.”

                “And whatever you’re looking for — I understand the need to look for something more after a mission like Scarif. After surviving that — I understand. But do _you_ understand that nothing else will be like that? Short of the Emperor himself, there’s not going to be a target like that again.”

                Cassian’s frown deepened. “Sir. There will always be targets like that while the Empire stands. I … I’ve spent so long convincing others of the cause. I need to be able to convince myself again.”

                Draven looked down. He was either hungover or genuinely affected; he rocked a little against his desk as he nodded at the toes of his polished boots. “It’s a shame, Captain. I won’t pretend that I’m not disappointed. Maybe we pushed you a little too far, a little too long.”

                Cassian let his shoulders sag a bit. He’d been too old, had had too many memories of his own family, to think of Draven in the way Draven perhaps wanted, but he felt a wash of affection for the man now. “Sir, you and General Cracken have done so much for me. I wouldn’t be here now if not for you. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful…”

                Draven smiled, and it grew as he spoke, as he convinced his face to wear it. “You wouldn’t be here now if not for Jyn Erso. I knew we should have left her in that cell on Wobani; I’d never have lost my best agent, and we’d all have been obliterated by the Death Star by now.” He managed a rueful grin, and Cassian thought it took fifteen years off him. Finally, Draven pushed himself off his desk and held a hand out to Cassian. “I’ve seen your team; it’s a good team. I’ll put the transfer order through directly. Best of luck, Cassian.”

                He took the proffered hand and shook it, but his mind was still racing between the things he thought he should be saying. Draven had not finished his piece, however, and kept his grip as Cassian moved to go.

                “Just know — we’ve always a space for you here. You’ll recognise it better than anyone, but keep your eyes on our newcomers. The bonds formed on missions like that can wear thin quicker than you’d think. I’d rather have you back on base, running encryptions if need be, than trying to hold something together that’s reached the end of its natural life.”

                Cassian squeezed the General’s hand more firmly, but let his expression speak for him. Draven’s expert seriousness had returned, so he didn’t feel as regretful about his final glance being somewhat sour as he left the office he’d reported to for the last ten years of his life.

…

He stayed as long as he could on the edges of the mess hall, filling up on caf, his thoughts alternating like waves lapping over one another. He’d drive himself in circles wondering whether he should have transferred when he knew that the dirty work was all he’d ever done, told himself it was all he’d really been good at: lying and tricking and shooting from behind. Was he just running from it because he was scared how little time he’d last without Kaytoo?

                Reeling from the sense of weightlessness the move had given him, he’d turn his mind hopefully to the team he’d chosen instead. And no matter how much he thought appreciatively of Bodhi’s plucky persistence, of Baze’s grizzled firepower, and Chirrut’s unquenchable, noble optimism, he would still end up thinking of Jyn. Jyn curled in his bed right now. Jyn’s hand warming under his as they’d sat together, drinking rot-gut and watching the debris from the Death Star turn into a meteor shower above Yavin 4. Jyn colliding with him when they’d thought the moon had been about to be obliterated. Her strength, helping his injured form into and out of the shuttle. The thought of her at the top of the Citadel, like a star guiding him to follow, to fight on through the injuries of his fall from the archive tower.

                Miserable, unsure how to analyse or catalogue this burgeoning cocktail of emotions, Cassian waited until an announcement over the base’s comms system forced him to move. The ceremony was beginning in two hours; he and other participants were to report to the command centre in an hour. Mechanically, he returned to the door of his room and pressed the chime.

                “Jyn? I need to come in. It’s Cassian.”

                There was no response; he wondered whether she’d already gone. As he was about to key in the code though, the door slid open.

                Her hair was a ragged halo; still nominally in its bun, but frizzed and rumpled around her head and neck. She rubbed her face with both hands; her boots were still at the foot of his bed. “Who else was it gonna be? It’s your room,” she mumbled, stepping aside to let him in.

                He tried to squash the upswell of _whatever it was_ he felt looking at her, tried to slow his heartrate by knitting his brows grumpily together. He didn’t want to look at her, or talk to her, in case he was confronted with more inconvenient questions to ask of himself.

                “I don’t think I’ve slept that well — without medical aids — in _months_ ,” she said, flopping back down on a corner of the bed. “Thank you.”

                He nodded, risking a sideward glance. She looked so relaxed, so at home there, that he had to turn back to the storage unit sharply. The line of thought that told him to regret his decision to follow _Rogue One_ resurfaced. “We need to get ready for the ceremony,” his words were rushed, a bit rough.

                He heard the sound of her shift on the mattress. He could imagine her looking at him thoughtfully, her eyes still puffy with sleep but narrowed as they ranged over his back, her mouth pressed down in a hard line. Then he heard her start to put her boots on.

                When he thought that she must be making her way to the door he let his hands fall on the open sides of the unit, let his shoulders ride up and knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip.

                She was as quiet on her feet as he was though, and he’d miscounted her steps. Her voice came from closer than he expected. “What’s wrong?”

                To his surprise, a bitter laugh burst from him; if both Draven and Jyn could read him so easily should he really have been entertaining the idea of returning to intelligence work? Maybe Scarif had broken him for that; broken him or saved him.

                “Nothing, I’m fine. Just hungover still,” he forced himself away from the unit, managed a shrug and a half-glance over his shoulder.

                Jyn folded her arms. “Bantha shit. What’s happened?”

                “Nothing. I just want to get this ceremony out of the way.”

                There was a pause, no doubt as she rolled her eyes extravagantly. “Well, suit yourself Cassian. It’s clearly not nothing, but I’ll leave you to it,” her footfalls retreated towards the door, but instead of the relief he expected, a chill of panic ran down his back.

                “Thanks again for the place to sleep,” she murmured as she stepped out.

                Good going, he told himself; alienate the new team you wanted to transfer to. He turned to check he really was alone when the door had hissed shut, and let a fist bang on the side of the unit. As a gesture it was too self-conscious; the sharp shot of pain he’d wanted to break himself out of his thoughts didn’t come, and he just looked at his hand, feeling foolish and exposed in the small room.

                With a sigh, he found his satchel and began pulling clothes out and packing them in it. He pulled off what he was wearing and folded his father’s jumper reverently into the bag, before adding his personal cache of weapons and lock-picking tools. All that was left out was his dress uniform and datapad. A light flashed on the latter, so he thumbed the screen on before dumping it into the bag too; his transfer orders had come through, with instructions to return certain items to the officer under Draven.

                Pinned into the stiff uniform, he hoisted the bag and left it on the end of the bed, eyeing the rumpled sheets jealously as he tried in vain to find more space in the high collar of his jacket. He just had time to pass by the intelligence centre to return the small plast box he’d ripped from the lining of his old jacket back on Scarif. The transponder would be replaced with a new one by the fleet, he guessed; though he doubted the fleet handed out lullaby pills quite as readily as intelligence did.

                He turned the box over in his hands a couple of times before handing it across the counter to the female officer. He tried to remember the last time he’d thought he might have to use it, but memories of different planets, different alleys, different sets of Imperial uniforms — all the same situation, really — blurred. The memories usually ended up with Kay, or himself, doing something rash; the perverse relief that the silhouette of an eight-foot black metal killing machine could bring merging with the sensation of his breath burning in his lungs, his arms aching as he climbed a surface that shouldn’t have had any obvious handholds, his blaster sights settling on allies as easily as enemies.

                He maintained a blank expression as the officer reminded him that the encrypted channels he’d been informed of at his last briefing would expire when Base One was evacuated, and that he would not receive a new set from the intelligence division. He reminded himself that working in a team would be different from working with contacts, sympathisers, people he only saw or heard from when he or they wanted something. When the officer had finished talking he nodded acknowledgement, gritting his teeth as the collar of his dress uniform dug into his throat.

                The command centre was crowded, although not as full as it had been during the battle that had taken place just over twenty-four standard hours ago. Cassian spotted Baze towering above the others, the group positioned in a sullen huddle far from the light of the central console.

                He'd never seen Baze’s red armour look so clean; dents had been hammered out and scrapes had been painted over. He held his chin high and proud and offered a wave as Cassian approached. Chirrut’s blue eyes narrowed and he turned in Cassian’s direction too; he supposed that Chirrut’s slow return to the perceptiveness he’s had before Scarif had more than a little to do with Baze’s relaxed demeanour.

                Bodhi positively glowed with pride, his dark ponytail shining on the shoulder of the white shirt Cassian had lent him. He was chatting animatedly to Jyn, his left arm gesturing as Jyn fiddled with the right sleeve of the shirt, apparently trying to roll and pin it below the stump of his right arm.

                She looked largely as she always did; wound tight, frustration flashing across her face when Bodhi moved suddenly; but her hair had been retied and her dark clothes no longer looked as dusty and scuffed as they’d been after a night spent on the hangar floor.

                Bodhi bent and said something in her ear and she grimaced around the pin in her mouth, plucking it free to mutter something back at him. Bodhi laughed nervously and looked at Cassian.

                He shifted awkwardly as he came to stand with the group, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them as the stiff material of his uniform obstructed the movement. It didn’t have pockets, so he smoothed the sides of the jacket uneasily and tried to find a comfortable way to hold his hands by his sides. He raised a challenging eyebrow at Bodhi’s chuckle.

                “Sorry,” the pilot grinned. “Jyn said you were in a mood; I can see why.”

                Cassian grimaced at her, but annoyance turned to resignation at her minute shrug.

                “Well, you are in a mood,” she straightened and smoothed down the material of Bodhi’s right sleeve, deciding that it would have to be neat enough.

                His reactions were evidently still sluggish in his recovery; he couldn’t quite stop the quirk at the corner of his mouth, and even felt heat in his cheeks when Jyn turned her own wan smile on him.

                She didn’t ask anything else of him, though he saw doubt in her eyes as she attempted to smooth her own jacket. Her posture shifted as she caught sight of someone approaching behind Cassian.

                “Bodhi Rook, pilot of _Rogue One_?” the breathless officer held a datapad out, scanning the group.

                “Me,” Bodhi waved the stump of his right arm, grinning at being addressed in those terms.

                “Oh, thank Force, this is utter chaos,” the officer muttered, tapping a few things on her screen. “Sorry, you should have been assigned a datapad when you left med bay. I guess hyperspace-enabled planet-killers tend to mess with the best laid plans though… Right, here’s your crew, three human—oh, _four_ humans, guess we’re still updating. You’ll be taking your shuttle up to _Home One_ straight after the ceremony, transporting mainly droids. They’ll be at the landing pad when you arrive, with any luck. Report to Admiral Ackbar; I understand the ship needs some mods and oh…” the officer finally took in Bodhi’s rolled sleeve. “Er, you’ve a priority appointment in _Home One_ ’s med bay for that prosthetic. Should be a couple of standard days before you get your first mission. Good luck, and thanks for joining up.” A look of panic suddenly crossed her face as she looked around the group again. “I mean, thank you all for doing what you did. Really.” She gulped, saluted Cassian, and retreated.

                Jyn’s eyes were burning into him, but her expression was inscrutable. Luckily, Baze was there with the practical questions.

                “You good to fly one-handed, Bodhi?”

                Bodhi was still marvelling at the words on the datapad. “Hm? Oh. Yeah, I can probably manage; you’re co-piloting?” he looked at Cassian.

                “I’ll pilot,” Cassian said flatly. “Jyn can co-pilot; you’ll have plenty of flying hours soon enough, Bodhi.”

                “No, I can easily—“ Bodhi began, but bit down on the protest when he saw the others’ faces. “Fine, but these shuttles are unwieldy. You’ll let me take over if anything, well. If there are any problems.”

                Jyn’s lips twisted into a smirk and she clapped his shoulder. “Sure Bodhi. You’ve already proven you can fly the bloody thing with only one hand to speak of. Let us take this one.”

                “Okay, okay,” Bodhi reassured himself by looking down at the datapad again, nodding at its affirmation that _Rogue One_ was technically his ship; his crew.

                Their next visitor was a droid in charge of positioning people during the ceremony. They were told where to stand, how to stand, what was to be applauded, who was to be saluted, and that they should wear the medals the droid handed each of them. It sounded faintly disapproving as it did so, but it couldn’t match the scepticism on each of their faces as they hefted the weight of the medals, exchanging glances where none of them wanted to be the first to loop the ribbon over their necks.

                In a flurry of action, they were soon marched out into turbolifts and onto a tall stone platform overlooking the hangar, which had been cleared of ships. There was a dizzying number of people standing below them, grouped by unit, but amongst the uniformity, the faces of hundreds of species looked up into the heights of the temple. Cassian was surprised at how affecting the sight was, of the majority of the Rebellion gathered under one large roof.

                Leia Organa was like a light-source at the centre of it all, her dress whiter than he remembered the snow on Fest ever being. Her face was composed, made-up, her smile serene — and once, genuinely warm, when the smuggler Solo shot her a wink as she placed a medal around his neck. Cassian heard Jyn’s splutter of amusement and Baze’s low chortle in response.

                The ceremony passed quicker than he’d have thought though, a blur of pride swelling up from the beings assembled below them, followed by the soft silence of thousands breathing in the damp air of the temple, considering the loss of Alderaan at the request of its surviving Princess. Leia’s words regarding her home were, unusually for her, brittle and short. The weight of the loss was starting to show on her, and she left the platform as General Dodonna began to announce the evacuation procedure for the base.

                Cassian and the others filed out after Leia. He took the medal off as soon as he was through the doorway, regretting the lack of pockets in his dress uniform once more. They were meant to be rushing for their ship, getting off-planet in the first wave, but he saw Chirrut talking earnestly with the young Skywalker, and Baze and Bodhi were frowning at something Leia was saying to them, her cheeks flushed with high colour and her hands taking each of theirs.

                Jyn was waiting to the side of the clusters of people, her medal also nowhere to be seen and her arms folded. She raised her eyebrows at him and pushed off from the wall when he approached. “It’s probably too late for this. I should have asked earlier, but, well, it took me a while to wake up,” her gaze darted over the ground between them. “I’ve got a couple of recordings to add to those archives you gave me. Not much, I mean, not enough, not by far … but when will I be able to upload them if not now?”

                Surprised — and grateful — that this had been her question, not one about last minute changes to the crew of _Rogue One_ , he nodded and took her elbow, leading her down the corridor. “They can’t take off without us anyway,” he said, dropping his hold on her as soon as she was moving in time with his long strides.

                They walked in silence to the archives, and it wasn’t until he was keying passcodes that would soon become obsolete into the out-of-hours console that she said anything else.

                “You had another mission.”

                His hands paused for a moment on the keys, but he didn’t look at her. “Yes.”

                Jyn watched him. Everything about her was compact, intensified; her eyes lit up by the console screen and her shoulders and mouth pinched warily. “And after all your questions about whether _I_ was staying.”

                “Give me the files,” he held a hand out, still looking at the screen.

                She handed over her own datapad, and he synced it with the console, running through familiar processes of file transfer and formatting. Despite herself, her eyes drifted curiously to the screen. “Ugh, I’ve never had the patience for this stuff,” she muttered.

                Cassian finally glanced at her, hoping she’d dropped the other topic permanently. “Yeah? With all that falsification of ID on your record?”

                She shrugged. “I can do the basics. Usually found someone more competent to polish it up though.

                “Still. Must be nice to be in demand.”

                He glared at her and tapped the keys with more force.

                “So Draven just assumed you were still on his team, and Bodhi and the others just assumed you were on theirs.”

                He dropped his finger hard on the final confirmation stroke and straightened, impatience with the day rising to a head. “And you? What did you assume?”

                Jyn’s arms tightened across her body and she seemed to shrink further into the dark corner of the doorway to the archives. “I don’t assume anything,” she said quietly.

                Her eyes were little more than a sparkle in the gloom, but he recognised their expression. It made him dizzy with an unexpected hurt of his own. He recognised the trapped animal look she’d had for most of Operation Fracture, a look that had started to fade sometime around the point they had really become a team, united around the council’s refusal to support the mission to Scarif. Around the time that he’d said something to her that felt impossibly bold in hindsight: _welcome home_.

                Guilt ran through him like a current. “I didn’t know about the orders from Draven until this afternoon. I went straight to his office. The transfer’s gone through.”

                She nodded mutely and took her datapad back when he held it out.

                “They’ll be waiting for us,” the words sounded useless to him. He didn’t want to move until she’d spoken again. He needed to know that she realised he’d not been planning on abandoning the team.

                With a sigh, Jyn emerged from the dark of the doorway and fell into line with him again, walking more slowly back the way they’d come. “I think all this waiting is getting to me. It’ll be better when we’ve got a mission,” she conceded, the words contained by the way her head bent over her crossed arms.

                “I’ll second that,” Cassian breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, meta - even my characters are getting fed up with this taking so long ;)
> 
> It would be really helpful for what I have in mind if I'd read the Princess Leia comics. I haven't. Apologies for discrepancies. And for any wait on the next chapters - I thought I'd had a really cool original idea, then it turned out it was the plot of the Leia comics. Knew I should have bought them already...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading and leaving kudos and comments, you all make it a lot easier to keep writing :)
> 
> Finally - the beginning of a mission! This mission will lead into something else too, I promise.

“Have either of you ever flown one of these?”

                “Bodhi, I flew this with you off Scarif,” Cassian grumbled, flipping switches and pointedly adjusting his headset.

                Jyn looked over her shoulder to see Bodhi twitching nervously, his left hand gripping the stability handle above his head.

                “No, but I’ve deliberately crashed a Rulaarian pleasure yacht, it can’t be too different, right?”

                She almost felt bad when she saw the look of horror cross Bodhi’s face, but at least making fun of him was distracting her from how little she did know about flying one of these things. Liana Hallik’s file had certainly contained details of a number of shipjackings and attempted shipjackings, but Jyn hadn’t usually been interested in flying the damn things far. She inhaled and ran her eyes over the console again, reconsidering one switch and pressing down on it firmly.

                “You okay?” Cassian asked.

                “Yeah, this’ll be fine. It’s a short trip,” she rolled her shoulders, trying to release the tension there.

                A grin breezed over her face as the base checked in with them, and Baze, Chirrut and Bodhi raised cheers at the sound of the words “ _Rogue One_ , you are cleared for take-off.”

                “Never thought I’d live to hear that,” Baze’s low voice carried from the hold, where he and Chirrut sat with a cavalcade of droids and stacks of crates bound for _Home One_.

                “Yeah, well it might be the last thing you live to hear,” Jyn muttered, her hands moving jerkily across the console as Cassian steadied the thrusters she’d activated. With barely more than a wobble, they were heading for space, and all too soon they were coming up on the huge Mon Calamari cruiser that was now the centrepiece of the Rebellion’s much depleted fleet.

                Cassian confirmed their arrival with the officer on board _Home One_ , and with the generous guidance of the larger ship’s tractor beam they were drawn into a hold that minutes ago had looked like no more than a bright speck on the side of the cruiser. Jyn’s concentration and nerve held long enough to bring them to a steady landing and she felt a burst of pride at the nod Cassian gave her.

                Even Bodhi seemed happy now; he released his hand-hold and squeezed her shoulder. “Great! You sure you two have never flown together before?”

                Jyn shot him a sour look and ushered him up the ladder. The sea of droids that had filled their ship’s hold was already flowing down the cargo ramp, each unit heading in the direction its orders told it to. Two remained to begin removing the crates and Jyn watched the efficiency with bemusement. “I guess things are all under control here, then?”

                Bodhi shrugged and looked around them, settling on Cassian to provide instruction.

                “Don’t look at me, I’ve never been under fleet command before,” he said, shouldering his bag and tugging at the collar of his dress uniform again. “Check your datapad; I presume we’ve got a briefing to attend to. Then, I’m getting out of this suit as quickly as possible.”

                Jyn eyed him. It fitted him better than the Imperial uniform he’d borrowed on Scarif, but had the same unforgiving straight lines. She was torn between sympathy and the insistent, recurring thought that the pressed trousers revealed the contours of his body in a surprisingly compelling way. She bit her lip and returned her attention to Bodhi with a frown, catching the end of his instructions that they should report to the offices of Admiral Ackbar.

                Their small group traipsed off the shuttle, following Bodhi, who followed the datapad’s instructions. It led to a turbolift, which led to a short, crowded journey, ending in a bright white corridor lined with doors. As they moved slowly down the corridor, looking for open doors or signs of the rooms’ functions, the head of a blueish-skinned Mon Calamari emerged from a room ahead of them. “ _Rogue One_? We’ve been expecting you, please come in!”

                They filed in and took seats at the semi-circular benches in what was a surprisingly large briefing room. The starkness of the plast walls and constant bright light was utterly disorienting after Yavin 4’s vine-ridden stone rooms; Jyn felt as though the whole ship was a glorified med bay. It even smelt too clean, as though every surface had recently been washed with sea water. The Mon Cals in the room seemed content in it, but she assumed that humans formed a low percentage of the _Home One_ ’s permanent crew.

                “Ah, welcome to you all!” A tall, rust-skinned Mon Calamari paced around the room’s central console, gesturing expansively with a datapad held in his large hand.

                Jyn wondered whether they should apologise for arriving later than scheduled; she still didn’t know what Baze and Bodhi had been discussing with the Princess, and she wasn’t sure how Chirrut’s spiritual meditations with Luke Skywalker would go down as an excuse. She certainly didn’t want to mention her visit to the archives.

                “You will no doubt find it reassuring when I say that I am of a mind with my colleague and compatriot, Admiral Raddus, in thinking your actions at Scarif both brave and necessary. It was a delight to see them bear fruits in the battle of the other day.” The Mon Calamari extended his webbed hand to each of them, and Jyn shook it, cautiously pleased with the reception thus far.

                “I am Admiral Ackbar, and your missions will come from myself or my colleague General Madine. We’ll be adding some features to your ship whilst you’re on board the _Home One_ : improved shields, a concealed weapon, and internally we’ll make sure there is seating and bunk room for the whole crew. Within a few days, we hope you’ll be ready to leave on your first assignment.”

                The nervous expectation Jyn felt was a palpable cloud around the whole team. Cassian lent forward, his elbows on his knees and brows raised in anticipation. Bodhi’s leg vibrated with energy, his knee bouncing and lips pressed together. Baze sprawled back on the bench, affecting nonchalance, but Jyn saw the tension in the arm he draped behind Chirrut, in the rise of his shoulders and the tendons in his neck. Chirrut’s own frown was deeper than she’d seen it before and his hands pressed together between his knees.

                Ackbar blinked at them all, as though used to people clamouring out loud for their orders. Or maybe he just wasn’t used to reading humans. Finally, he gestured to his subordinate, who handed him two datapads. Ackbar handed one to Baze and held another out to Chirrut. “This datapad has a modified screen; the aurabesh creates raised points for you to follow.”

                Chirrut grinned his mischievous grin and reached around to find and accept it. “Perhaps it’s time I learnt to read?”

                Baze rolled his eyes and cuffed Chirrut’s shoulder lightly. “He means thank you. Admiral.”

                Ackbar blinked again, but his mouth fell open in what Jyn assumed to be a display of amusement. “You’re welcome, Guardian Imwê. In the meantime, perhaps your fellow Guardian, or other team members, can keep you updated on matters.

                “I will introduce you to the essential points now. Your mission is in a sense a follow-on from the events at Scarif. We have been uncertain for some days regarding the fate of Admiral Raddus and his crew. During the battle of Scarif, his ship was boarded by none other than Darth Vader himself.”

                Jyn wasn’t sure how his fate could be uncertain if that were the case; even the mention of the sorcerer’s name sent a chill through her. She glanced at the others and saw the same fear on Bodhi’s face, and a look of shock worn by Baze and Chirrut. Cassian’s expression was carefully controlled; she suspected he’d already known that particular detail.

                “There was a large crew still on board, and we have come to learn that not all were killed in the conflict. A prison ship, designation GLTB-3181, was rerouted from the planet Horuz shortly before the battle, and it has been confirmed that it is now en route to Nam Chorios. This ship is transporting Scarif survivors to the Imperial labour camp there; I believe you, Sergeant Erso, have experience of such a place.”

                Jyn tensed and managed a minute nod.

                “Intelligence have intercepted a transmission from Nam Chorios requesting additional troops; the prison is soon to be vastly overcrowded for the staff currently stationed there. We have included a list of all known crew on board _Profundity_ at the battle. Treat this as akin to a Pathfinders mission; you are to retrieve what prisoners you are able to, and report back on further detainees. Prioritise rescues according to the list we’ve transmitted to your datapads. Any questions?”

                “Yes, how many can we carry after the modifications to the shuttle?” Bodhi’s voice sounded sharper than Jyn had heard it before; she was grateful to him for asking the question that had been playing on her mind too.

                Ackbar tilted his head one way and then the other — the Mon Calamari equivalent of a shrug. “It depends how many are willing to share the space, I expect. You carried, what, twenty to Scarif? It should still take that number of passengers. It is a sturdy cargo vessel.”

                “But there must have been hundreds aboard the _Profundity_ ,” Jyn breathed. A provocation like Ackbar was suggesting was not going to make it easy to return and liberate the others. She saw Cassian’s eyes flick between her and Bodhi; she noticed tense lines around them and around his mouth.

                The Admiral turned one large amber eye on her, swivelling it to take several sweeps of her appearance. “Yes. We hope to retrieve as many as we can. But this will not be possible without a fuller picture of the prison on Nam Chorios. And we don’t currently have the resources in the fleet to back up your team. We are low on starfighters and still lower on transport vessels. Current intelligence on the planet, its prison, and its mining facilities has been transferred to your datapads. We will meet again to discuss the best approach when your pilot’s surgery is complete, and when work on your ship has been carried out.”

                Cassian finally broke his silence, speaking quietly and with a coldness that demanded attention. “Shouldn’t this be an intelligence mission? Reconnaissance only, rather than alerting the Empire to our awareness of the prison?”

                Ackbar’s mouth opened again. “A natural question from the former intelligence officer. Our priority is the retrieval of the Admiral and his command team, if they are among the survivors. They are too senior, and hold too much information to be left to languish in an Imperial jail. Rescuing any others will have to be a bonus.”

                Jyn noticed a dull ache in the back of her hands. Her fists had clenched tight on her knees. She was familiar with this kind of practice, of course. It was how large organisations functioned; protect the most senior team members; too much loss or change at the top was more damaging than greater casualties from lower down the ranks. But it still felt like a slap in the face after Scarif. She didn’t know what she’d expected; perhaps some more autonomy over the mission? A little more trust shown to the team that had already proved they could pull off the impossible? She itched to start combing through the data they’d been given, to start finding ways of making the mission more effective than Ackbar expected it to be.

                “Further questions?” his gravelly voice sounded entirely unperturbed by the lukewarm reception the mission had received. “No? Then Captain Fleedar will escort you to your quarters.”

                Feeling somewhat numb, Jyn stumbled after the Captain, taking barely any notice of the endless, repetitive corridors they wound through. Eventually they were shown to a room with six bunks lining the walls, and access to a ‘fresher and sonic. One desk with an inbuilt console was squeezed in at the far wall. Their guide gestured to the end of the corridor, where they’d find a caf machine and nutrition station, and to the room opposite it, which contained a desk and seating, and was available for briefings and meetings.

                “Fleet jackets and personal transponders have been provided and are located on each bunk. The quartermaster’s office is on deck 15 should you have any further questions. Reveille on board is at 0600 standard time, although you will not be expected to present yourselves to command until pilot Rook’s operation has been completed and your ship has been modified.” Captain Fleedar bowed his blue-domed head and marched away back to the turbolift.

                It was late, and Jyn’s body still felt light and unwieldy from the effects of the booze the night before, but she wasn’t ready to sleep. “Caf?” she gestured at her datapad and the far end of the corridor.

                “Yes,” Bodhi agreed firmly, and Chirrut and Baze were already stepping back out of the shared room to join her.

                Cassian was furiously working at the clip fastenings on his collar. “I’ll join you in the meeting room in a minute.”

                Jyn could feel the unease radiating from Bodhi and Baze as they gathered at the caf dispenser. Chirrut maintained the serenity she was used to from him, but by the hand he kept resting on Baze’s back she assumed he’d picked up on the disappointment of the rest of the team.

                They waited in silence, sipping their drinks until Cassian arrived, more relaxed in his worn fatigues and new, loose field jacket. It did not reassure Jyn’s doubts about the mission to observe the worried frown he wore as he joined them, but it did make her feel more certain of the team’s unity.

                It was Baze whose sigh broke the grim deadlock. “So, this is the kind of thing we’ve signed up for?”

                “I think I’d rather be flying supply runs,” Bodhi murmured, glazed eyes fixed on his caf as he stirred sweetener into it.

                Jyn’s eyes met Cassian’s across the table, and he shifted unhappily in his seat and looked away again. “It is the kind of mission the Pathfinders would have completed,” he said quietly. “And the Rebellion needs time to train up a new team. Melshi had been bringing people through the ranks for years; I don’t even know who’ll be recruiting new members now.”

                “But to leave it to an algorithm on a datapad to decide who we pull out of there?” Baze protested. He didn’t sound like the resigned cynic she’d met in NiJedha anymore, but she recognised the fear of betrayal in his eyes.

                “Trust the Force,” Chirrut’s lilting voice cajoled, as he reached out and found Baze’s hand where it rested on the table. He squeezed it and turned his face to the room more generally. “We can still make a difference on this mission. Baze, I feel the same need for _more_ from this that you do; Jyn, I sense it from you also. But who else would go into this mission hoping to find a way to bring the entire operation down? We have been given an opportunity to show how much more we are capable of. To help the many rather than the few. The Admiral has modest demands; it won’t be hard to surpass them.”

                Cassian’s eyes had widened at Chirrut’s words and he looked sternly at Jyn and Baze. “What? You want to turn this into the liberation of an entire Imperial base?”

                Jyn rolled her eyes in exasperation and shot Chirrut a look. “Not … in … so many thoughts? I’m just hoping that when we look at the situation on Nam Chorios, we might find a way to … help the prisoners help themselves?”

                Baze blinked and threw a lopsided grin at her, but Cassian was unmoved.

                “Come on. You know better — would you have worked with anyone else on Wobani to ‘help yourselves’?”

                Anger flared at the way he spoke as if he knew her, knew her experience and her time on Wobani well enough to correct her judgement. But Jyn bit back her initial reply; there was no way she’d have trusted any of the other prisoners after all. Instead, she focussed her thoughts on what Ackbar had said of Nam Chorios, _not_ Wobani. “This is an already small operation that could have seen hundreds of Rebel prisoners — comrades, who had worked on one ship together — dumped into its population. The Empire’s going to be too busy licking its wounds and concentrating its efforts on the command team to think about spreading the others out.”

                Bodhi finally looked up from his drink, a glimmer of hope playing at his wild eyes. “Yeah. There’s no way the Empire will be letting on to prisoners that the Death Star has been destroyed — they’ll be saying anything they like about its successes to demoralise them, um, the Rebels. They’ll think that if they’re demoralised enough there’s no need to worry about spreading them across different prison worlds.”

                “Life expectancy on a labour camp is short,” Jyn followed up, glaring at Cassian to make her point felt. “It’s expensive to move large numbers of people across a whole galaxy of labour camps if they’re only going to last a few years, or a few months once they get there.”

                Chirrut beamed at her, and Bodhi and Baze added emphasis by turning their eyes to Cassian too. He still looked serious, but she saw the formation of lines around his eyes and mouth alter a little; slowly, she thought something like a twisted smirk was trying to work its way onto his face.

                “They’re mining detonite on Nam Chorios,” he said softly. “If you want to make something unsubtle out of a simple extraction mission, then we have the means.”

                Jyn’s smile was vicious as she held his stare for a moment longer. “Good. We have the beginnings of an objective. Let’s start looking at the details tomorrow; Bodhi, we’ll expect you to fill us in on your perspective when you return from med bay,” she turned a gentler expression on him as he laughed in relief.

                “Great. So we’re planning on disobeying orders on our first official mission together? Seems fitting,” he nodded.

                “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Baze rumbled, crossing his arms in an attempt to contain his obvious pleasure.

                “And even the Captain is happy?” Chirrut asked, leaning over the table to turn in the direction of Cassian.

                “If — _if_ there is a way to do this that leaves the prisoners with a way off the planet? Then yes. I cannot see how Ackbar thinks he’d have a second chance after we extract any surviving members of the command team. There’s no doubt we’d be condemning those left behind to an even worse existence than they currently face.”

                “So we should try,” Bodhi’s eyes looked for reassurance.

                “Yes. We must try,” Cassian said, certainty growing on him.

…

It might just have been the late mug of caf, but Jyn could not sleep in the narrow cot she’d chosen. She’d drawn the thin modesty curtain across, and being on a lower bunk, the darkness provided by the bed above was deeper than she’d have thought possible within the bright white surfaces of _Home One_.

                Years ago, another version of Jyn had found comfort in the sounds of shared sleeping quarters; bodies turning on mattresses, the creak of frames and the rustle of bedding; the steady breathing of those in the room underlying it all. On Wobani, fear of what her cellmate might attempt whilst she slept had been ground down quickly by the exhaustion of long days of physical work. She could sleep lightly almost anywhere; she’d slept easily in the company of these four people on plenty of hyperspace journeys a week ago, so why couldn’t she make her eyes close now?

                It must have been the caf, or the strange, stark environment of the cruiser. She tried to remember how she’d let herself relax as a part of Saw’s team. It had been so long ago; her mind flinched from the memories, accustomed to the rawness she’d cultivated by years of picking at the wounds left there. The file Cassian had given her had painted an all too familiar picture, reminding her of the way Saw’s convictions had slid, year by year, mission by mission, and the mask he’d presented her with had slid, showing her the ruthless hatred he kept for the Empire, a hatred that swamped all other considerations. But she’d not seen it like that then. She’d had friends in his team; people whose breathing she’d pick out as she tried to sleep, whose foibles or tics she’d think of, smiling into her covers when she could count each one returned from a mission.

                And when they didn’t return, she’d think of them anyway, too young to know not to embrace the memories, not to wish for them to be brought back, or kept alive inside her somehow. Jyn turned to face the wall, burying her mouth in the covers to contain her rapid breathing. Ghosts from all her different pasts seemed to assail her, demanding that she remember the fussy way Codo tucked his scout pistol into his sock, or how Maia had laughed when she’d said she didn’t want to die from shrapnel wounds, or the way Staven flexed his knuckles at even a mention of the Empire. Or how her father had become distracted when he was playing with her; midway through describing Stormy’s adventures his eyes would defocus and he would frown and mutter at the wall, lost to his equations again. Or her mother, compulsively checking a hidden storage unit every morning, her shoulders only relaxing when she had confirmed that its contents were still safe.

                Jyn screwed her eyes shut tight, but her mind barrelled on: the screams of all those pilots above Base One mingled with the half-remembered faces of the Pathfinders who had died on Scarif; Kaytoo’s approximation of a shrug, the feel of his cold metal digits on her palm as he’d taken the proffered blaster. Chirrut chanting his prayer; Baze’s proud smirk as he called her his ‘little sister’; Bodhi’s nervous movements, his energy disguising steely determination; the feel of rough wool on her face, of Cassian’s grip tight on her back, his jaw sharp against her hair.

                Her eyes flew open again and she pressed the covers closer to her features, staring at the white wall until she had forced every image out of her mind, until all she could see was the wall, and her thoughts had settled on the repeated order: _stop it_.

                She just needed to get on with the mission, she decided. The feel of her fists and her truncheon impacting on stormtrooper armour would put thoughts like this out of her mind. Sometimes teams had left her, and sometimes she had left her teams. But this time, Jyn was going to try not to be the one who fled first. She just had to endure a little more time cooped up on _Home One_ , then they’d be on their own again, doing what came naturally, helping the Admiral who had come to their aid previously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think Raddus' fate is clear - Wookieepedia doesn't seem to think so either. There are bits in the Freed novelisation that make me think Raddus was involved in later, retrospective histories of the Rebellion (alongside Mon Mothma), so for my purposes, Raddus gets to survive Scarif too.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The surviving members of Rogue One finally get their next mission together; the objectives are modest, but Jyn and her team have greater ambitions for what can be achieved.

“It’s a sound plan, thank you for putting it together so quickly,” General Madine scanned the screen of his datapad and looked back up at Jyn. She returned his cold blue gaze with an open expression, barely nodding acknowledgement of his praise.

                Madine’s frown was more formidable than Ackbar’s unreadable expression; as far as she could tell, Ackbar was as content with proceedings as he’d been during their uncomfortable first meeting. Madine, however, had the natural suspicion that she recognised from Draven, Saw, and countless other officers she’d encountered on both sides of the war.

                “The heat-cancelling suits are expensive, but, I will concede, necessary. I’m not certain I see the value of giving you Imperial access codes as a _back-up_ option; they’re not easy to come by in the first place.”

                Jyn shifted her weight and blinked. “Of course, General. And we hope not to need them. But given what little intelligence we have regarding the planet’s terrain, and the size of the whole site, it may be necessary, for the sake of speed, to let the Imperials think we’re arriving as friends.” As a matter of fact, their primary plan did rely on the access codes; but there hadn’t been a way of working them convincingly into the plan A they had just presented to command.

                Bodhi bobbed his head, “sir, on an outpost like this the troops will be bored and demoralised. If we don’t have the option of sneaking below their radars like _Bravo One_ did on Wobani, then distracting them by saying we’re bringing urgently needed supplies will let us get a foot in the door, no questions asked.”

                Madine narrowed his eyes at the pilot, but Jyn shot him a fleeting smile. Bodhi’s left fingers were interlaced with the fingers of his new, prosthetic right arm. She wasn’t sure which of the team had been the most impressed by the way the new limb matched the tone of his warm brown skin, but Bodhi had been effusively delighted. He did keep knocking things with it though, and regarding it in confusion as he tried to come to terms with the return of sensory input. Jyn was sure that if cybernetics bruised, Bodhi’s right limb would have a pattern of marks on it already.

                “And, I have the assurances of the Guardian, Chirrut Imwê, that he is fully fit for a combat mission?”

                Chirrut smiled innocuously. “Yes, sir.” Neither he nor Baze had said anything specific, but she’d got the impression that meeting the young Skywalker, apparently a Jedi-in-the-making — whatever that meant in this era of the galaxy — had liberated some part of Chirrut that he’d not fully realised he could access. Baze was clearly still over-protective, but Chirrut himself was relearning the confident swagger he’d previously had.

                “I’d be much happier authorising this if you’d allow our medical team to—“

                “Crix,” Admiral Ackbar extended a hand. “Guardian Imwê fought in the battle of Scarif. He is a hero of the Rebellion, and it’s not for you or me to question his combat skills.”

                Madine grimaced and scanned the screen of his datapad again. He shot Cassian a look as though he wanted to ask a similar question of him, but chose to run an aggrieved hand through his blonde beard instead. “Assuming he’s still alive, getting Admiral Raddus out of there as quickly as possible is your number one priority. His knowledge of the fleet is unparalleled, and as seasoned a fighter as he is, I don’t like to think of what the Empire might stoop to in order to get at what he knows.”

                Jyn forced an agreeable smile onto her features, and was gratified to see similarly banal expressions on her team. “We won’t disappoint, General,” she said firmly.

                “Very well,” Madine glanced at Ackbar again, frowned one last time at the screen, and then pressed his thumb to it. “Mission authorised. The supplies you requested will be delivered to _Rogue One_ by 1100 hours. Co-ordinates will be sent to you for the first stage of your return; you will rendezvous with an escort ship that will provide the next set of co-ordinates to bring you back to the fleet. Good luck. And may the Force be with you.”

…

What was left of their hold space was stacked high with crates, most of which contained medical supplies. Cassian stood at the edge of the hold, fiddling alternately with a datapad and the controls for the landing ramp, his fingers black with engine grease. Chirrut sat at one of the newly-fitted flight chairs behind the crates, his fingers moving deftly, meticulously removing the power-pack and associated components from the long stun prod he held. Both of them wore the white plast armour of snowtroopers. Baze stood awkwardly by Chirrut, plucking at the tight-fitting material of the heat-cancelling suit he wore and turning pieces of his armour over in his hands, wondering whether he could justify putting it on over the body-hugging one piece.

                Jyn empathised; she felt awfully exposed in her own suit, except for the area around her neck, where the spare material of the suit’s hood folded around itself, pressing on her throat. She’d shrugged her fleet jacket on over it for now, and wore her belt and holster as usual, but it still felt like she was parading around the ship in her underwear. Bodhi tried to appear as uncomfortable in the bulky, helmeted Imperial flight-suit he’d been assigned at their request, but his smirk when he clambered up from the cockpit to see her and Baze told her that her discomfort was at least making him feel more at ease.

                “Did someone get a bottle to distract the senior officer with?” Jyn asked, hoping that concentrating on details of the mission to come would take her mind off the tight suit.

                She felt every inch of skin under the material flush with heat instead when Cassian flickered a half-glance over his shoulder, his eyes unavoidably tracing her whole body before he could turn back to his work. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, rummaging pointedly in the exposed wires of the landing ramp’s control panel. “Corellian brandy. The bottle’s on the co-pilot’s chair.”

                “Great,” Jyn murmured, moving stiffly out of his line of sight and sitting heavily in a flight chair in the darkest corner of the hold. She wouldn’t think twice about the damned suit as soon as she had something to do in it, but as usual, the waiting seemed to take twice as long as the combat to come. She went through the plan in her mind once more, sifting aside the sanitised version they’d given to Madine and Ackbar, and ticking off the things they’d need that hadn’t been made explicit in the briefing.

…

“Cargo shuttle TL-J17, you are cleared for landing — and stars, are we happy to see you!”

                “Confirmed, Nam Chorios, be with you shortly,” Bodhi looked up at Jyn with a rakish smile. She touched her fingers to the kyber crystal through the material of her suit, its ever-present sharp edges a reassurance at her throat.

                Cassian and Bodhi brought the ship into a swooping descent towards what looked to be the only evidence of the planet’s occupation. Deep, dark clefts showed up the scars that years of mining had left on its surface, but as night overtook the frozen landscape they passed over, the mines started to seem like a trick of the eyes in the gloom below. Had it not been for two small landing beacons, Jyn thought they could have flown straight over the hangar, none the wiser that it was directly below them.

                “You and Baze had better get hidden below,” Cassian told her. “I’ll key in the details of what we see and leave the datapad on the flight chairs.”

                Jyn nodded, pulling the hood of her bodysuit up over her hair and face. She checked her blaster’s charge, touched her fingers to her baton and nodded at Cassian and Bodhi before ascending the ladder from the cockpit. Baze had prepared himself similarly; the outline of his head was lumpy and uneven where he’d forced his long, tangled hair into the hood. Only his eyes were visible, and as Jyn pulled goggles down over her face so did Baze. They took the other ladder down below deck to the bunk area and waited in the shadows.

                The shuttle clanked gently in its landing, the manoeuvre smooth and practiced. She could hear Cassian and Bodhi’s steps leaving the cockpit; she picked up Chirrut’s quiet pacing accompanied by the stun prod-turned-staff. The crackle of electronically modified speech came and went, and Jyn held her breath as they came to the first essential part of the plan.

                The sound of the loading ramp’s hydraulics began with a healthy shuff of compressed gas, but came to an abrupt stop shortly afterwards. There was a metallic clicking; gears failing to engage; pressure failing to apply. Jyn blessed Cassian’s quiet ability with electronics, and sent an irrational thank you to Kaytoo as well, her fingers still pressed hard to her crystal.

                There was more crackled speech, the clatter of plast uniforms against metal, groans of disappointment from outside the shuttle. After a few minutes, this resolved itself into the renewed sounds of plast on metal, and all human noise soon afterwards trailed away. She met Baze’s eyes through the reflection of his goggles, his lids wide, anxious for Chirrut. Jyn squeezed his arm, counted a hundred clicks, thinking all the time of the agonisingly long journey off Scarif, and then began to ascend the ladder.

                She peered cautiously around the hold: the landing ramp was locked open, barely wide enough at the top for a human body to squeeze free. A datapad glowed patiently on the flight chair nearest to her, but otherwise all was quiet. She climbed out of the stairwell and crouched by the chair, scanning the information on the screen. Cassian had left abbreviated notes of what she and Baze could expect in the hold: at least six ground crew, unarmed; the crew of the transport GLTB-3181 that had recently delivered hundreds of new Rebel prisoners (Cassian had seen a handful of stormtroopers and at least two officers from this vessel); he’d expected the meagre local security detail to accompany him, Bodhi and Chirrut from the hangar.

                Jyn showed the screen to Baze when he joined her, and after a moment’s pause he nodded. They both picked up sets of quadnocs from hooks by the flight chairs and picked their way past the stacked crates, focussing the infrared lenses on the landing ramp and hangar beyond it. She spotted what must have been the ground crew’s small rec area, where a cluster of warm bodies was arranged in a conveniently close formation.

                Nodding once at Baze and gesturing to herself, she let her breathing steady as he hoisted her up to the gap between the landing ramp and the hull. Quickly, quietly, Jyn dropped like liquid shadow from the ramp and fingered her baton, moving in a steady crouch from cover to cover as she closed the distance on the grease-stained, harassed-looking engineers.

                Maybe one or two had a chance to rue their excitement at the unexpected arrival of the cargo shuttle; Jyn didn’t much care as their bodies slumped to the floor and flopped over consoles. Once each member of the ground crew had stopped twitching she took rolls of cable and bound them all separately, stuffing oily rags into their mouths and securing them to any fixed-down object. She had no need to spare them, but a blaster shot might be heard by the crew of the transport looming over the hangar, and a warm blaster would render her heat-cancelling body suit pointless. Scanning the hangar with her quadnocs, she made certain that she hadn’t missed anyone; checked that the security detail wasn’t returning from the main site yet.

                All was clear, so she scuttled through the dark spaces back towards the shuttle. Flinching at the sound its landing made, she hurled an end of cable up into the gap she’d recently passed through, and felt it go tight as Baze secured the other end. She saw his silhouette, goggles flashing pale light as he peered out of the side of the ramp, where the gap tapered thin. She raised a two-fingered salute and braced herself to catch his repeating cannon when he threw it down.

                Jyn leaned her full bodyweight back on the cable as Baze began to pull himself up it, crawling indelicately from the shuttle’s dark interior and swinging himself over the edge. She stifled a grunt of effort as she held onto the cable, but Baze let himself slide down it rapidly, and was soon standing by her, his cannon cradled lovingly in his black-clad arms.

                They both raised their quadnocs again and approached the enormous transport. Jyn reflected that it should have been larger for the number of people it carried; it was a fraction of the size of _Profundity_ , after all. But then again, a bigger vessel would require a bigger crew.

                The infrareds suggested that most of those on board were in bunks towards the fore of the ship; they’d left the landing ramp down in a display of trust that she was almost embarrassed to take advantage of. A few figures paced the corridors; they were spread out in the haphazard patterns of normal life — apart from those she suspected to be the pilot and co-pilot, who lounged in the ship’s cockpit with a few comrades.

                She’d agreed with Baze in advance how this should play out; she saw his hands caress his cannon impatiently, but he moved slowly, steadily in her wake.

                As methodically as she could, Jyn stalked those on board, leaving unforgiving dents in soft temples, crushing windpipes through the rubber and plast of uniforms. She let Baze follow in her wake, shoving bodies into cells and storage units. Sometimes they had to hide in the cells themselves, and she tried not to let panic rise at the thought of being locked in; sometimes they doubled back on themselves to prevent a wandering stormtrooper from stumbling on them from behind. Eventually, they made their way to the cockpit, and before the pilot had even hit the deck, Baze was already lumbering towards the bunks. Jyn followed, maintaining her scans of the ship with her quadnocs.

                Baze paused minutely outside the door in which the transport’s last surviving crew lounged. Jyn checked their surroundings again; they were absurdly alone. She nodded, and couldn’t quite stifle the grin that rose on her face as Baze elbowed the door release and began to fire into the small room. It wasn’t a fair fight; far from it; but then Jyn had never been on the receiving end of fairness from the Empire. And if Baze had partially avenged Jedha City on Scarif, he now had the new grievance of Chirrut’s shrapnel wounds and rattled confidence to take payment for.

                When the sound of his blasts died into an echo, Jyn peered into the carnage around his shoulder. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of ozone and burnt flesh that penetrated the material that was pulled up over her nose. With a perfunctory tap on his back, she began to creep back towards the transport’s exit.

                They ran to the far end of the hangar, where the surroundings grew cloying with a heavy red dust. Beyond the blast doors there ought to have been stacks of detonite, ready for transport off-world. Jyn thought about hotwiring the locked doors, but decided she couldn’t be bothered and shot the panel out, following it up with a fist that ripped out any remaining wires. The doors raised up in surprise, and she and Baze began to fill the empty satchels they carried with handfuls of the flaky, rust-coloured mineral.

                Soon they were both jogging across the packed ice that lay between the hangar and the main prison buildings. Cassian, Bodhi and Chirrut should have been escorted to the base’s commanding officer; the flattering bottle of brandy would distract the officer whilst Cassian’s algorithm worked on the list of prisoners on a level of code below the fake manifest displayed by Bodhi’s datapad.

                There were still a few hundred metres between them and the barracks when Jyn saw plasma flare through a thick, misted transparisteel window. Shouts and thumps carried across the cold air, and a light went on in the barracks. She turned to Baze with a curse and gestured at him to move faster.

                As they approached, half-readied snowtroopers began to stumble from the barracks doors, rifles raising as they ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter in which I realised my whole mental picture of the inside of a zeta-class shuttle was somewhat upside down. Seemed too late to change it...  
> Also heat-cancelling bodysuits are a thing I believe I encountered in X-Wing: Mercy Kill.


	13. Chapter 13

“What a pity about your shuttle, Captain,” Colonel Theresa Yem cooed, her leather gloves creaking as she leaned her interlaced fingers on the desk between them.

                “I’m sure your crew will help us fix the problem in no time, Colonel. In the meantime, we did manage to retrieve this special delivery.”

                Cassian tried not to hold his breath as Bodhi spoke; the pilot was doing unexpectedly well. Bodhi stood rigidly to attention in his Imperial flight suit; no shake of nerves evident at the edges of the large, curved helmet he wore. He held the bottle of Corellian brandy out across the desk, his face neutral and eyes respectfully averted.

                Yem smirked, dipping her chin below the high black collar of her woollen coat. With a girlish chuckle, she received the gift. “Well, thank you, Captain. Perhaps this is in long-overdue recognition of our hard work here on Nam Chorios.”

                Bodhi nodded acknowledgement. “And, the rest of the manifest, Colonel.” He slipped a datapad from his large leg pocket and held it out as he’d held the bottle.

                Cassian tensed; _don’t push too hard_ , he thought, fixing his gaze on Bodhi’s shoulders through the dark gauze of his own helmet's eye slits.

                Yem’s lids dropped disinterestedly and she waved at her second-in-command to take the datapad. “Ah yes, thank you.”

                A man, likely in his late thirties, took the proffered item from Bodhi somewhat roughly and stalked to a console. Cassian thought he was the first person on this planet he’d yet seen who seemed to take his job seriously. But the officer did not react to anything when he synced the portable device to the console, and Cassian had to trust that as the system uploaded their fake manifest, his hidden code would retrieve the prisoner list and plans to the site.

                Yem was still regarding the bottle in her hand. “Well, while we asked for extra troops, it’s good to know that somewhere out there the Empire remembers us.”

                “I understand th—we’re working on raising the troops for you,” Bodhi’s stiff stance shifted a little and Cassian cringed. As soon as they had the datapad back… “How are you coping? With the new prisoners?”

                Yem’s lips pursed and she flicked her grey fringe out of her eyes, regarding Bodhi coolly. Cassian definitely saw the second-in-command send a sharp look across from the console, his eyes lingering a little too long on the visible part of Bodhi’s face.

                “It’s ruined our efficiency,” Yem finally answered. “All remaining wings have to be on lockdown when even one wing is at the mines. But I am confident of the progress we’re making with those filthy fish. Soon we’ll have something really worthwhile to send to intelligence.”

                Bodhi’s adam’s apple bobbled visibly as he swallowed, but he pressed on bravely. “Well. Well, the detonite is needed now more than ever; I’m sure it won’t be long before you’re back up to full efficiency.”

                From the corner of his eye, Cassian saw the other officer’s hand twitch mechanically over the console. As if in slow-motion, he registered the man’s turn, his mouth opening to address Colonel Yem even as one hand went to his blaster and the other went to his comm. Cassian's muscles needed no instruction, and the officer was blasted back against the console before his weapon had left its holster.

                Chirrut’s movement anticipated Cassian’s, and he was already spinning his new staff deftly in the small room, landing blows on the security detail that had been perfectly positioned to shoot Cassian from behind once he’d killed the second-in-command.

                “Bodhi, cover Yem!” he shouted, diving low out of habit and spinning to cover the office door and simultaneously offer back-up to Chirrut if it was needed.

                The pilot’s pistol was already pointed at the astonished Colonel, and although its barrel shook, Bodhi’s grip was tight enough that Yem did no more than raise her hands, the bottle still held loosely in one, and grimace exaggeratedly. As he pointed the weapon at her, he moved around the desk to shield the console where the datapad still lay.

                One of the troopers must have managed to activate an alarm, and a repetitive blaring began to sweep over the site; even as Chirrut dispatched the last of the security detail, Cassian saw more troopers take positions outside the office doorway. He ducked behind a corner of Yem’s desk as he fired at the body parts he could see, and gestured to Bodhi to duck, shouting out to Chirrut as he did.

                He thought he heard more shots from outside, the low rumble of Baze’s cannon, he hoped. If Cassian had worried about losing the element of surprise early when the alarms had gone off, he didn’t need to think subtly any longer once an enormous explosion rocked the ground under the flimsy office building. He pulled his snowtrooper helmet off, shaking out his hair as the sweat on his temples began to cool in the fresh air. Grinding his teeth together in a grin — Jyn and Baze were where they we needed, at least — he dashed across the space between the desk and the door, firing shots at where he knew the troopers would be even as his eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom outside. Brightness flared up again in front of him and he flinched, ready to reel away from the shots of the troopers he’d missed, but instead he heard Baze’s voice fill the sudden stillness. “Less haste, Captain! You’re welcome.”

                Cassian cracked his eyes open and saw the bodies of five troopers on the frozen ground beyond the office door. He’d probably managed to hit two, but Baze’s follow-up had certainly saved his skin. A little rattled, Cassian nodded at the black-clad figure holding the cannon and turned back to the office. Bodhi had secured Colonel Yem’s hands with a set of stun cuffs. He held another set, clearly wondering what to attach her to. Cassian sighed and raised his blaster again, seeing the Imperial’s pale eyes widen in what was, to him, a very familiar expression.

                “Captain, doesn’t the Alliance take prisoners?” Chirrut’s gentle voice interrupted the practiced emptiness of this thoughts. The Guardian had also removed his helmet and his face was still and serious.

                “Not generally,” his voice was impatient. “Containment is expensive, and it’s not like she’s going to have information that’s good for anything.”

                Chirrut’s hand found Cassian’s tense blaster arm with that bewildering certainty that he got from — what? The Force? Cassian gritted his teeth.

                “Perhaps, for your sake, the Alliance might learn to take a few prisoners of its own.”

                Yem’s breathing was heavy around the shredded uniform Bodhi had tied in her mouth. She still stared at Cassian with the terror of a final, hopeless plea on her face. She must have been in her fifties; a self-satisfied officer who’d served for years and never achieved enough to get promoted off this dead-end world. Someone who no doubt relished the absolute power she had over the prisoners. Cassian knew nothing of her, but he knew enough to say that he despised her. Yet the adrenaline of the fire-fight was cooling in his veins; he told himself that shooting her would be no different from shooting a stormtrooper who had been about to fire on him, but experience told him that this was a lie.

                Furiously, he lowered the blaster and shrugged Chirrut’s grip off. He strode to the desk and leaned over it, not taking his eyes from the officer once. He picked up the commlink and finally looked down to scan the list of frequencies; he tuned it to a base-wide frequency, and over the sound of the alarms, over the distant crackling of the fire that had been a barracks only moments before, he announced the destruction of the Death Star. He emphasised the disarray of the Empire, exaggerated the strength of the Rebellion’s response, and took satisfaction from the way that Yem’s face paled and she shook her head dumbfoundedly.

                Then he dropped the commlink with a clatter and turned to Bodhi. “Do you have the list?”

                Bodhi nodded, eyeing Cassian cautiously. “Over eighty percent of the crew of _Profundity_ is here. Wing C is where the command team’s being kept; go left through the entrance to the main building, follow the corridor to the end.”

                “And you’ve enough information to deal with the rest of the wings?” his voice was growing hoarse with expended energy.

                Bodhi nodded. “If Chirrut and Baze lead, I’ll direct them.”

                Cassian nodded and moved around the desk to take the stun cuffs from Bodhi. He looked up briefly at Chirrut and dipped his head in something he’d allow the Guardian to interpret as thanks. Yem’s fear had returned, but he hauled her to her feet impatiently and pushed the small of her back to make her walk in front of him to the office doorway.

                Beyond, Jyn and Baze provided the odd flare of covering fire as needed; the troopers inside the prison were not foolish enough to emerge for long though, so things looked like a stalemate. Colonel Yem stumbled on the packed ice and Cassian pushed her ahead of him, checking occasionally that Bodhi and Chirrut were following. Jyn and Baze accompanied them at a distance, maintaining their covering shots as needed, and the troopers inside grew even less bold when they saw their commanding officer in cuffs.

                There were still a hundred metres or so between Cassian and the prison doors, with precious little cover ahead. From the corner of his eye, he saw a lithe shadow gather itself. Jyn was partly silhouetted by the burning barracks, but he recognised the determination in her posture. She crouched like a predator, hefting a satchel in one hand and her blaster in the other. Her goggles flashed as she turned to him and the others; a silent demand for back-up.

                Cassian pressed his blaster visibly to Yem’s cheek and Baze raised his cannon as Jyn began her sprint to the wall. Darting and zigzagging through plasma bolts, it seemed an age before she flung herself against the brickwork, her body pressed flat to the surface a few metres to the left of the doors. Despite their efforts, the troopers firing from small apertures along the wall could not angle their shots to hit her, though the snow hissed and sizzled just feet away from her boots.

                Jyn hefted the half-full satchel and flung it at the doors. The troopers fired on the movement, and Cassian saw her shoulders tense as she realised they’d done her job for her. The detonite in the satchel accepted the heat of the plasma with a roar of gratitude, exploding with a visceral rumble against and through the prison doors.

                He ran forward in the wake of the noise and heat, dragging Yem and trusting that the others followed closely. As he approached the building his feet pulled him to his right, and he came skidding to his knees where Jyn had been thrown by the force of the explosion. At his hesitant touch, she rolled onto her side without assistance, and the knot of fear that had closed his chest was released when he saw her eyes clear and wide behind the plast of her goggles.

                In those seconds, Yem had begun a slow crawl away from them, but before Cassian could express relief that Jyn was all right, she leapt to her feet and grabbed the back of the Imperial’s coat. If she shot him a questioning look he could pretend that he hadn’t seen it behind the mask of her suit and goggles. She pulled Yem to her feet and the two of them pushed the officer onwards again, through the fiery, shredded remains of the prison entrance.

                Inside, Baze and Chirrut had made short work of the first wave of guards. In the lull in the fighting, Cassian identified a small office in which they could leave Yem cuffed and locked to a hot water pipe. The three Jedhans had soon disappeared down a corridor, the muffled sound of blaster fire indicating their direction.

                Cassian and Jyn made for the door on the left, Cassian’s lock-pick skills making short work of the security on it. Together, they progressed through sections of the corridor, Jyn providing the firepower each time Cassian opened a door; Cassian occasionally letting her blast a lock out and taking his turn to pick off any guards they came across. The prison conformed easily to the expectation that the guards were stationed more in the interests of keeping the inmates inside, rather than keeping outsiders from getting in.

                Finally, they reached the end of the length of corridor; one door remained between them and the cells. Several guards were on the other side, and Cassian swore in half a dozen languages when he saw one of them gesture with his blaster at the blue-grey head of a Mon Calamari who had been forced to kneel outside his cell.

                Jyn pulled her goggles off and yanked the hood off her face. She caught Cassian’s eye, her breathing hard and expression grim. “How close do you think we can get if we drop our blasters?”

                He shook his head in confusion, then followed her glance back. Some of the guards stood within a few metres of the door. “What? Open it, act like we surrender, I’ll get close enough to tackle the one on out left…”

                Jyn nodded. “I’ll get the one with Raddus.”

                Cassian negated her more firmly. “No way. You’ll never get close. He’ll shoot Raddus and you before you’ve a chance.”

                Her lips with a thin line and her eyes burnt into him. “Do you have any better ideas?”

                He glanced through the transparisteel peephole in the door again and then back at Jyn. Her blaster was already directed at the lock pad. “Okay. But let me do that, they’re less likely to fire immediately if we _don’t_ enter to the sound of blaster fire.”

                She stayed on the right side of the door as he huddled close to her, bending to open the access panel and begin the re-wiring. He could feel her breathing against him, but before he could quite acknowledge the sensation there was a click and a hiss and Jyn pushed him back to the scant cover of the opposite side of the doorway.

                There was a deal of shouting from the guards ahead of them; one warning shot zipped through the doorway between them. Jyn transferred her blaster to her left hand, gripped it loosely by the barrel and raised her arm out where it would be visible to the guards. “Wait! Wait, don’t shoot! All right, don’t shoot. We surrender.” Her voice had enough certainty to tell the trooper she faced that surrender had, after all, been what he’d wanted from them.

                Cassian did the same on the other side, and with a shared glance, they both stepped slowly out into the last section of the corridor. The trooper who held a blaster to Raddus evidently had more imagination than most of the others on the base, but Cassian could still see nervous hesitation in his stance. He hoped that it didn’t occur to any of the guards that they had no incentive not to fire on himself or Jyn, unarmed and apparently surrendering or otherwise.

                Slowly, Jyn bent as she walked forwards, lowering her weapon to the ground. Cassian did the same, and had to stop moving when he realised he’d already come within reach of the closest guard. He kicked his weapon to the side, but kept his eyes on Jyn, who kicked hers in the direction of the trooper holding Raddus. Her inevitable, creeping walk followed it, ready, anticipating the minute twitch of the guard’s hand as her blaster clattered against his feet and as he realised how close she now was.

                The tip of his weapon left Raddus’ head for a fraction of a second, but Jyn pounced, and Cassian had no choice but to do as she did, throwing his left shoulder into the armpit of the trooper closest to him. It was easy to catch the first one off-guard, and his hands twisted the blaster from the trooper’s hands, strong with the greater need he had. He felt inevitable shockwaves rock the trooper’s body as his comrades fired into him when Cassian pirouetted behind the Imperial for cover.

                A flurry of blaster fire later, and Cassian and Jyn and Admiral Raddus looked at each other over the bodies of the last guards on their wing. Raddus’ skin looked dry and dark; he seemed thin, a little wasted, as far as Cassian could recognise it on a Mon Cal. But Raddus’ mouth hung open with amusement, and he was the first to move in the direction of the cells, fumbling a key card from one of the dead troopers’ belts.

                His legs suddenly feeling unsteady as his mind tried to tell him how stupid everything he’d just done was, Cassian stepped across the limbs sprawled on the floor. He grabbed Jyn’s arm, too tired and astonished to be alive to say anything. She grinned with a great release of the breath she’d held, and it was only as she raised her right hand to sweep through her dishevelled hair that he saw the blistered score of a blaster wound on her other biceps.

                He’d tell her off for that later, he knew; the flash of fear and anger he felt when he saw it was strong, and he stored it away within him. But now, the sight of that reckless smile swept over him like a wave, driving away all the dirt of the doubt and tension that had gripped him. She raised her left hand and squeezed his arm in return, letting their shoulders knock companionably as she turned to follow Raddus.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who likes a bit of h/c? *waves arm in the air* :D bit of description of relatively minor burns here for anyone who's squeamish about that.

Jyn watched Mon Calamari, humans, and the odd Quarren flow from the prison in a seemingly endless stream. Many carried an injury or two, but most were walking. She pulled aside those who were struggling, agreeing with Raddus that whilst he and his command crew had priority access to _Rogue One_ and its medical supplies, they’d swap out the healthier officers for any other Rebel prisoners in more urgent need of care. She thought of how astonished, and possibly annoyed, Madine would be on their return, and the thought gave her a feeling of serenity she’d not had since the top of the Citadel on Scarif.

                Cassian emerged from the side office with a shivering and miserable Colonel Yem and Jyn surveyed the Imperial with amusement. “If we’re taking prisoners there should be some engineers with sore heads in the hangar. Might be more useful than her.”

                He shrugged lightly and manoeuvred Yem ahead of him out into Nam Chorios’ dark night. As he went, Jyn saw the stiffness in his gait, reminding herself that he’d barely been in med bay for a few days following the cavalcade of abuse his body had received on their last mission. She set a note in her mind to make sure he got some painkillers, or stims at least, when they were on board the ship.

                In the meantime, she craned her neck over the crowds of prisoners, hoping to catch sight of Baze, Bodhi or Chirrut. They’d checked in via their comms when Jyn and Cassian had begun leading the command team from Wing C, but must have been held up in emptying the last few cells. Not all those who streamed past her were Rebels (though all of those wielding the blasters of dead guards were); some were other prisoners who had made the wise decision not to move against their rescuers. Idly, Jyn probed the thought that she’d have been one of those left for dead in their cells had her rescue happened like this. Another reason to be grateful to Kaytoo…

                Finally, she saw Baze, the only human form whose height rivalled the stature of the Mon Cals. His hair was wild, freed from his hood. He gave her a grin and a wave, and by standing on her tip toes she could just about see the tops of Chirrut and Bodhi’s heads. They appeared to escort someone between them, and she looked again at Baze’s expression, identifying something underlying his smile that she couldn’t quite place.

                “Is this the last of us?” She asked, approaching them as the final prisoners filed out.

                Bodhi gave her a shocked frown. “Er, you could say that.”

                Chirrut smiled and clapped the shoulder of the middle-aged man who stood between him and Bodhi. “The last of the Jedhans, in fact; we found a compatriot in Wing A.”

                Jyn looked at the man more closely; the tattered clothing he wore revealed itself to be an Imperial uniform. His black and grey hair was thinning away from his forehead, but his dark, bushy brows were raised in an expression of perpetual astonishment. “Force be with you,” he said breathily, and half-bowed in Jyn’s direction.

                She looked perplexedly at her three team-mates. “An Imperial?”

                “He was on Coruscant, in some office,” Baze’s deep voice rumbled. “A no-good volunteer, working for them for years.”

                Bodhi and the old man winced, but Chirrut gave Baze a knowing prod with his elbow. “Rhinzi wanted to be close to the Jedi temple back in the days of the Republic. He was arrested for trying to flee Coruscant following the destruction of Alderaan.”

                “Why were you trying to run?” Jyn pinned them man with a suspicious glare.

                “What they did to the Alderaanians!” his voice was high and wavering with despair. “A lady was going to help us escape, but I was too late for the transport…”

                Jyn saw a closed resignation on the faces of her team, and realised they knew a good deal more about ‘the Alderaanians’ than she’d appreciated. Feeling foolish, she recalled the way Leia had taken Baze and Bodhi’s hands in her own after the medal ceremony; she wished she’d asked them sooner what it had been about.

                “Okay, well you can fill me in on board _Rogue One_ , we’d better get moving before the Imps send reinforcements.”

                Bodhi sped up to walk at her side as they marched out across the icy ground again. “Um, Jyn, I’ve, um … do you think the crew of _Profundity_ can handle the transport?”

                Surprised, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t know, Bodhi. Are they difficult to fly?”

                “No. Well, yes. That is, I’ve only flown them in simulators. I’d love the opportunity…”

                She grinned; the rest of them might have had their fill of adrenaline for the day, but Bodhi was clearly itching to get his hands on the transport’s flight console. “We’ll check they’ve got someone who can co-pilot; it might not be the worst idea to have one of our own on board anyway; to help reassure the Alliance about the nature of a transport ship they’re not expecting…”

                “That’s what I thought,” Bodhi agreed, adopting a serious expression for a moment before he let it crack into a grin to answer hers.

                The details were soon arranged with the members of Raddus’ command team who had ended up with the rest of the crew on board the transport ship. Bodhi positively bounded into the transport, and Jyn followed Chirrut, Baze, and their newfound guest up the — now fully-lowered — landing ramp into the crowded belly of the _Rogue One_.

                “Got everyone you were expecting, Admiral?” She checked as she wound her way through to the cockpit. Raddus gave a hearty acknowledgement; he was already handing out med supplies from an opened crate, so Jyn descended the cockpit ladder lightly and took the co-pilot’s seat by Cassian’s side.

                “Where did you leave Yem and the others?” she asked, preparing the craft’s pre-launch sequence.

                He raised an eyebrow. “There were quite a few dead troopers in the cells on board the transport; we figured they could share.”

                Jyn nodded, finding that her nerves about flying the shuttle seemed insignificant in the face of the firefights they’d just come through.

                “No sign of vessels above-planet yet,” she ran her eyes over the navigational screen as they left the hangar. “Do you think we have time to test out the weapons on this thing before we go?”

                Cassian smirked. “Let’s let the transport get into orbit; I don’t want to fire on an unknown quantity of detonite until we know we can all get clear.”

                “Hum, fair,” she mused. Even though she knew she’d be exhausted soon, the thrill of the mission was still coursing through her; she thrummed with energy at the thought of blasting the mines sky high and beginning a return journey — home? — without the horror of the Death Star at her back; without the fears for her team’s injuries.

                The zeta-class shuttle was surprisingly well-equipped, even without the hidden blaster that Ackbar’s engineers had added to its base. The effect of firing all its cannon on a site based on the extraction of detonite therefore did not disappoint. Jyn could almost imagine that she felt the warmth of the orange fireball blooming below them; the transparisteel cockpit window dimmed automatically until they turned the nose of the vessel away from the planet’s surface, and then they faced the velvety near-darkness of space.

                “Transport GLTB-3181, transmitting initial rendezvous co-ordinates now,” Jyn hailed Bodhi and received his cheerful acknowledgement as Cassian worked the navicomputer. Soon afterwards, the stars stretched, and with a familiar skip in her stomach, the view turned into the whirling blue corona of hyperspace.

                With a deep sigh, Jyn relaxed back in her chair.

                Her eyes weren’t closed long; she could feel him watching her.

                She gave another loud exhalation, but it didn’t carry the impatience she’d only half-intended.

                Cassian’s chin was dipped in a way that was almost coy. His dark eyes held steady for long enough to get her attention, then they flickered to her arm. So often, his closed expressions were the easiest for her to read; they were a mirror of her own defensive arsenal. Now, she saw frustration carefully overlaid by neutrality, but there was something soft underpinning both. It made her restless under his stare.

                “Are you going to put some bacta on that?”

                She’d been able to ignore the wound through the buzzing adrenaline of the mission; it barely registered even now; but a glance revealed that a large area of her skin was affected. The scorched edges of the heat-cancelling suit clung to the dark red blisters that the plasma had left, and the longer she considered it, the more Jyn felt the discomfort spread.

                Cassian had shifted as though about to stand, and Jyn found herself on her feet before a smart reply could come to her lips. “It’s fine. I’ll get it.”

                She returned moments later to see that he’d composed himself in preparation to give her some speech about recklessness. His gruff frown and folded arms were too affected; she found herself surprisingly grateful for the care underlying it; she couldn’t be bothered with the fight he clearly felt he should be looking for. Jyn held a handful of capsules out to him.

                “Painkillers. For you.”

                With not a small degree of satisfaction, she saw the angry words he’d been summoning cool and dissipate like the line between his brows. The blank expression he drew across his features nearly made her laugh out loud; she knew every excuse and objection that he was considering; she’d spoken them herself time and again, as she knew he must have.

                “Take them, Cassian,” she soothed, flopping back into the co-pilot’s chair and tipping the capsules into the reluctant palm he extended.

                She didn’t look at him again as she extended her right arm in an awkward twist in front of her. Jyn withdrew the bacta patches she’d brought from a pocket and put them on the flight console. She grimaced at the way material and skin had knitted together, and paused before pulling at the wrist of her sleeve. Trying to calm her breath, Jyn put the thought of the pain that ripping the material free would cause; the longer she looked at the way its melted threads clung to her the more trapped she felt. With a deep breath drawn in through her flared nostrils, she prepared to rip the arm of her suit up as fast as she could.

                A firm but careful hand on her upper arm stopped her before she could follow through with the move.

                Cassian’s other hand reached out to take her wrist as he swore gently in a guttural Outer Rim language. He shot her another frown, this one more convincing than the one he’d talked himself into needing whilst she’d been away finding medical supplies.

                She froze, her injured arm held at either end by him. She knew that ripping the material off the wound wasn’t the _ideal_ way to deal with a blaster burn, but she’d done it enough times before that it had become habit; when she’d no blade to hand to cut away cloth, or when speed seemed more necessary than care, or sometimes when she thought that a fresh burst of pain might help focus her mind.

                She shrugged awkwardly, about to explain something; something empty about her being fine, it being fine, her having survived worse. He wouldn’t meet her eyes now, though, his brusque expression fixed on the wound. Just as she’d insisted on the painkillers, so he was going to insist on this.

                His hand left her wrist and reappeared with a vibroblade from the utility belt on the snowtrooper suit he still wore. With a movement so quick and practiced that she barely had time to flinch, he ran the blade up the sleeve of her suit, stopping just shy of the blast wound.

                “General Madine won’t be pleased,” she managed, annoyed by the breathlessness of her voice. Letting someone else wield a vibroblade so close to her made every muscle in her body tense; it was only pride that kept her still. “These things are expensive, remember?”

                His mouth tightened, but he raised a brow at her. “I’m not the one who got shot wearing it.”

                She watched the blade trim around the hole in the material, letting the edges of the sleeve drop away to leave her blistered skin surrounded by only a small halo of melted fibres. She passed one of the bacta patches across to Cassian as requested, and steeled herself for the touch of his fingers on her bare skin.

                He pressed the patch over the wound without ceremony or a lingering touch, but his expression was scrupulously controlled as he rolled up the excess fabric of her split sleeve and tucked it under the intact material above the bacta patch.

                Jyn made herself watch with her own front of professional detachment. But she found her jaw clenched tight and hard; she burned anywhere his hands met her arm, where they left whispering, glancing blows that struck her harder than she remembered the bolt of plasma doing.

                The task completed, he sat back and she turned her face deliberately from him. She could feel the skin of her exposed arm prickle with goose bumps in the silence between them; though whether it was a hot or a cold silence was something she wasn’t certain of.

                When they fought together, survived together, there was ease between them and she was never scared. But these quiet stretches alone with him were starting to make her queasy; stretches where she paused, aware of how relaxed, how comfortable she could be in his company, but only when she wasn’t thinking about it. Where she realised that it almost felt like learning to be comfortable with her own company. The unfamiliar feeling loomed over her like the pale shadow of a planet-killer in the sky, and she wanted to hide from it like she’d never before wanted to hide from a fight.

                With a sharp exhale, she forced herself to her feet again. “I’m going to go and see who this guy is they found in Wing A — you meet him yet?”

                His glance was troubled. “No. Really, we should be keeping him apart, he needs to be debriefed properly…”

                Jyn folded her arms. “Are you going to tell the guys whose planet’s been turned into a dust storm that they shouldn’t be talking to another survivor from their home world? And really? Is this where we decide to start following the rules, having lied to command to get this far?”

                Cassian swallowed and looked away, so all she could see was the top of his head. She supposed he had found lying to Madine and Ackbar more difficult than the rest of them, but he kept his doubts to himself.

                She pressed her mouth shut and began to climb out of the cockpit, frustration building, inert and heavy in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, THANK YOU everyone who keeps reading and commenting and leaving kudos - you all rock my world and I am so grateful for all your lovely feedback. Especial thanks to you guys who pointed out that I gave Ackbar an unwarranted demotion... ;)
> 
> Been away from home for a bit, so only two chapters for you today, but I've been plotting *narrows eyes and steeples fingers* so this should keep going a bit longer!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW brief allusions to torture.

His back barely complained as he pulled himself up the ladder; the painkillers were already doing their job. In sullen silence, Cassian followed Jyn to the flight seats where Chirrut and Baze flanked an elderly, bemused man in a grubby, damaged uniform.

                She adopted a sceptical stance as she looked down at the three of them, her arms tight across her body and boots planted firmly under her hips.

                Cassian lent on the bulkhead slightly behind her, content to watch and listen, having no more words of comfort to offer to the Jedhans than he’d had back when they’d blasted from the planet’s volatile atmosphere all of what might as well have been a lifetime ago. When he’d been in the med bay with them back on Yavin 4, the three men had exchanged memories of the planet they’d been born on: words soft and fond, spoken with a reverence Cassian hadn’t felt for anything in years. He didn’t sully their memories with the pretence of understanding, and that was the most comfort he could provide.

                “Tell me about the Alderaanians. What did Princess Leia say?” Jyn asked. Her voice was clipped and her face hard, but there was a worry, a need in her eyes. More than an officer’s interest; a guilt and care that ran deeper.

                Baze glanced at Chirrut, whose eyebrows twitched a little in acknowledgement. “Not the Princess. Rhinzi told us — the Princess has simply expressed her sympathies for NiJedha and its people.”

                The old man between them nodded again; to Cassian, the movement looked like that of a droid with faulty neck bearings. He wore an earnest, needy expression, looking constantly between the four of them for reassurance. It made Cassian suspicious.

                “They protested. When we learned what had happened to Alderaan; when we learned it was the Empire. A weapon. The Alderaanians on Coruscant made a peaceful protest, and it made us aware, those of us from Jedha, and some who knew Scarif, it made us aware that our planets had not been hurt only by natural forces. We wanted to support the Alderaanians. But, oh!” the Imperial broke off in a wail, his knuckles whitening as his hands gripped his knees. He turned his eyes to the roof of the hold, grimacing as his eyes glistened.

                Trying not to let cynicism rule, Cassian examined Chirrut and Baze’s expressions. The Guardians were pale and serious; Chirrut’s eyes were closed as he inhaled deeply, but Baze fixed a grim stare on Rhinzi’s face. Whilst they evidently believed Rhinzi’s words, as a rule, Cassian distrusted information that came off Coruscant; if it wasn’t useless, it was suspicious in its convenient affirmation of things the Rebellion hoped to uncover. Information from an Imperial jail seemed to him to be even more open to manipulation. He glanced at Jyn; her arms were still crossed and she frowned at Rhinzi, but her expression was carefully neutral.

                She shifted her weight a little as she interrupted the elderly bureaucrat’s sobbing. “Let me guess. The Empire takes about as kindly to peaceful protest as it would to a blaster aimed at Palpatine’s face?”

                Rhinzi’s keening seemed to take on an affirmatory tone as he bobbed his head again. Chirrut’s eyes opened and Baze transferred his stare to Jyn. “They were slaughtered,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “Herded into alleys by stormtroopers and shot until they all fell.”

                Hints of colour at her ears, cheeks and neck were the only sign of Jyn’s rising anger, but Cassian saw them all. He examined the three Jedhans again, thinking of the alleys and dead ends that characterised Coruscant’s interlocking levels and enclaves. That part was plausible enough; he thought of all the furious, fierce Alderaanians he’d encountered in the Rebellion though, and felt that the ‘peaceful’ part of the protest might have been an embellishment by those looking for absolution through their reverence for martyrs. He could only hope that the protesters had in fact fought hard, and taken a few troopers out with them.

                “And you?” Jyn asked Rhinzi again. Her green eyes, hard as kyberite, forced Rhinzi to look up, to meet her expression and to answer as well as he could. “How did you survive?”

                The old man swallowed. “I did not protest. Not at first. But I heard — some of us were contacted. A woman was organising transport. She offered it to any Jedhans and Alderaanians who still lived. But I couldn’t leave the office safely. I had to wait. And when I got there the ship had gone. But the troopers waited for me and they took me.”

                The source of Cassian’s suspicions suddenly shone forth through the fear in the man’s eyes. He read the familiar expression and almost managed to regret doubting Rhinzi’s genuine participation in the tale he told. With a sigh, he pushed himself off the bulkhead and stepped level with Jyn, looking down at the miserable former prisoner.

                “You told them all you knew.” The softness that his voice could hold always surprised him when these words needed to be spoken. It felt like another man was taking loan of his body; one who could let each new atrocity committed by the Empire appal him as much as the first one he’d experienced. One who had not maintained his own silence, in dozens of rooms, against the urge to give in, to just answer and make the pain stop.

                Rhinzi flinched guiltily and looked down at his trembling hands. “I tried. I tried to give her time. A ship can get a long way in a standard day, yes?”

                Baze squeezed Rhinzi’s thin shoulder and looked at Cassian with an expression trapped between reproach and understanding. “You’re no soldier, old man. You did well under the circumstances. I’d wager she made it a good long way.”

                Jyn looked across at him then; he couldn’t describe how he knew it, or what it was in her face that had changed, but he recognised the fire that Rhinzi’s account had lit. It was the same source that had helped her slough off the fractured mask of Liana Hallik and emerge as Jyn Erso, a woman driven as though she’d just awoken from years trapped in a nightmarish sleep. It made something go tight in Cassian’s throat; like an invisible vibroblade held to his windpipe.

                “I didn’t even know that much,” Rhinzi looked up at Baze with pleading, watery eyes. “I’d heard it was a hammerhead who helped her plan the escape; she wanted to find a sanctuary, a spiritual home where we could be safe. I didn’t have any details. Maybe they won’t find her?”

                At the mention of the hammerhead, Cassian instantly thought of every Ithorian he’d encountered; they tended towards notoriety simply because of their distinctive appearance and stature. They were known to be no friends of the Empire, but their pacifism ran deeper than even the stereotypes about Alderaan; if the Imperials wanted to put pressure on Ithor, it would have little capacity to defend itself.

                “But the Princess should be told,” Chirrut finally broke the uncertain silence. Baze looked sharply at him and Cassian saw that one of his hands fidgeted with something deep in the pocket of the robes he had re-donned once on board the shuttle.

                “Baze,” Chirrut cajoled, a smile lighting up his face again. “They do not know our loss, but they know their own. We are all one team, we are all survivors of NiJedha.” At the warmth in Chirrut’s voice, Baze softened. He produced a commlink from his pocket, rolling it between his rough fingers.

                “A direct line?” Jyn sounded impressed. If she was troubled by the Jedhans’ separate connection with Leia it didn’t show; Cassian tried to follow her lead, but it was a reminder of how fresh the bonds between them were, and a reminder that he was still more accustomed to working alone, on his own terms.

                “We haven’t been able to get through yet,” Baze admitted. “But perhaps, with her authority, we have our next mission.”

                Jyn looked at Cassian again, her eyebrows raised questioningly. “Sounds good to me, assuming we’re not confined to quarters after this one…”

                He let his exasperation come through in a tight shrug and a sigh. “We need more information. She has influence, but she’s not a commander. And the Empire has the same intelligence, with several days’ head start.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to think of something constructive to focus on. He addressed Rhinzi again: “when did you get transferred to Nam Chorios?”

                He blinked wetly and gaped at Cassian for a moment. “Um. Some days ago. Two? Three?”

                Seeing the others’ expectation, he tried to force levity into his response. “Okay. They have a head start, but if we can be quick, if we can get the intelligence, we might catch up.”

                Chirrut’s grin was lopsided, almost rakish. His intense, unfocused eyes seemed to study Cassian for some time before he chuckled and slapped his knee with a hand. “We will have the Force on our side!”

                Baze murmured approval as Rhinzi bowed his head, muttering prayers that Cassian couldn’t quite decipher. Jyn was looking at him strangely, her arms still crossed and her lips flirting with a smile. As she turned to go, her right hand lifted from where it was folded under her left arm, and she touched something at her throat. He’d seen the gesture before; he was beginning to lose count of each occasion he’d noticed her fingers flutter to her neck; but a flush of heat now came with the familiarity of recognition.

                For a moment he considered not following her back to the cockpit. Glances and gestures that came naturally between them in a group seemed to grow strangely charged when they were alone; he became conscious of the way she read his body language; a language developed painstakingly over years of undercover missions and careful observation. It threw his sense of self into relief, making him question the words he spoke and the decisions he made when around this accidentally-formed team.

                But while the space between the flight chairs and the access ladders was private enough, the rest of the ship teemed with Raddus’ crew, thrumming with the quiet chatter of people taking care of each other, the sound rising from the deck below and complementing the hum of the engines in the main hold. Not entirely reluctantly, Cassian turned and followed Jyn down into the cockpit once more.

                Her boots were up on the console and she craned her neck to see him descend the ladder. When she saw him, the fingers of her left hand stopped their restless picking at the edges of her bacta pad. “So. What do you think the reaction’s going to be on our return?”

                “I’m sure someone will try to claim it was the objective all along,” he sat down heavily, sweeping a tired smile over the ship’s controls.

                “You don’t think I’ll be chucked in the brig again?”

                Her Coruscant accent was pronounced as she said it; defiance covering a genuine question. It made him annoyed with Jebel all over again, but the thought that she was worrying about the possibility only _after_ they’d completed the mission elicited some other emotion. He kept his eyes fixed on the navicomputer and let his smile broaden. “I doubt it. Though if they see a mission in that old Imperial’s information they might not trust it to us. I’d expect something with fewer poss—“

                Cassian stopped talking as he heard the ladder behind them creak.

                Admiral Raddus was stepping down its rungs in a slow, measured pace. He moved stiffly, but seemed uninjured. Cassian moved to stand and salute as the officer reached the deck; he gave Jyn a pointed look, and she rolled her eyes but let her boots thud to the ground to offer her own loose salute.

                Raddus turned from the ladder, steadying himself against it as he did. Making a wet, gravelly sound deep in his throat pouch, he looked from Cassian to Jyn and let his mouth drop open in amusement.

                “At ease, Captain; Sergeant.”

                Letting his arm fall to his side, Cassian resisted the urge to examine Jyn’s reaction to being addressed by rank again. The Pathfinders had conferred the status on her as something of a joke on the way to Scarif, but he knew it had been a sign of their genuine respect, as well as a way of incorporating her into their world.

                “I’m glad to see you’ve had your wound tended to, Sergeant. It is not serious, I trust?” Raddus fixed Jyn with his acid-yellow eyes.

                She examined the toes of her boots awkwardly, shrugging off the concern. “It’s not serious, sir. I hope that you and your crew will recover quickly from the Imperials’ hospitality.”

                Raddus made another rough sound in his throat. “It’s hard to be effective in gathering intelligence when you yourself don’t know what you’re looking for. And they did not recognise that my crew is largely made up of polar Mon Calamari; the cold had far less impact on us than they intended.”

                The Admiral paused to narrow his large, orb-like eyes, looking between Cassian and Jyn once more. “Though I don’t deny that I am grateful you managed to extract so many of us safely. I … understand that it might not have been the decision of fleet command to steal an Imperial prison transport and destroy the base on Nam Chorios?”

                Cassian was glad to identify a bubble of pride in the Mon Cal’s voice. He glanced at Jyn, who looked uncertain how to answer, perhaps being less used to Mon Calamari speech patterns than he was.

                “Sir, the intention was to extract you and your command team; to scope out the site so that a full rescue might be attempted at a later date,” Raddus and Jyn waited as he paused. “As a team, we agreed that a second extraction would be far riskier than the plan we devised to liberate the majority of prisoners now. Given the limited resources of the Rebellion, we thought it unlikely that fleet would countenance a change to the objective, so we simply set out to prove what could be done with a small team.”

                Raddus gaped a grin again. “Good, Captain. As at Scarif, Sergeant Erso — and yourself — have proved that your team is resourceful and unwavering in the face of what must be done. I will proudly support your decisions at Nam Chorios, and I will speak in whatever way I can in your favour.” The Admiral surveyed them for a moment longer, folding his webbed hands across his abdomen. “With luck, yours will be the team I send to meet a certain contact of mine on Ithor. They have resisted joining the Alliance outright, but after the Death Star — after Alderaan — they may think differently.”

                Cassian couldn’t quite stop himself from glancing at Jyn; her mouth was a thin line and her stare slightly too fixedly blank, but she nodded at Raddus’ tacit admission that he’d overheard something of their conversation with Rhinzi. The news didn’t surprise Cassian much; the hold had its quiet corners, but it was still unpartitioned. At least Raddus was another senior figure who supported what was looking like it might become the trade-mark wilfulness of the _Rogue One_ crew.

                “Thank you, Admiral,” Jyn managed.

                Before she could add anything, the navicomputer started to beep regularly. Cassian turned to it with a glance over his shoulder.

                “Admiral, if you’d care to remain here while we hail the rendezvous vessel — it might help to explain the arrival of the transport.”

                Raddus agreed readily, and with his authoritative intervention, the X Wing escort finally agreed to share the co-ordinates for the next jump with them. In a few hours, they would be back with the fleet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, writing this whilst away at my parents' was a bit of a chore and I think it shows, so sorry if it's perfunctory and expository...still trying to squeeze my plot in around the Leia comics' plots (that I've still not read). But I think I know where we're going now, so hopefully I won't let down all you lovely people who've been sticking with me this far :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one long chapter this week, sorry lovely readers! Life has started to conspire to actually give me something more to do during the day than sit about dreaming of Rebelcaptain, but I promise to try to keep regular updates going. It's also dawning on me that this will be novel-length if I manage to keep it up, and having never done anything like that before I rather like the sound of the challenge! :D Unedited, frustrating, between-mission downtime coming up YET AGAIN below, but then I promise they'll be away from all those pesky commanders making them follow the rules ugh MAN rules *eyeroll*

“Well, you’ve joined us at something of an interesting time, I’ll grant.”

                Jyn wondered how Madine’s beard remained so thick when he kept tugging at it with cracked fingers. He’d been rummaging in it in silence for minutes already, and seemed to take more and more of his stress out on the blonde curls the longer Jyn remained in his presence.

                “We should, of course, be riding high on the victory at Yavin. But we’ve suffered heavy losses,” Madine continued to yank at his facial hair whilst staring at his datapad. He spoke conversationally, almost as though to himself rather than to a subordinate officer in the middle of what should have been a somewhat furious debriefing. “But the Empire mustn’t know how heavily they hit us at Scarif, and Alderaan, and Yavin. We have to look _strong_. You know, someone out there sanctioned a hit on Kuat of all places. Kuat!”

                Jyn pressed her lips together, trying to turn her expression into one of quizzical interest. Madine’s exclamation of the shipyard planet’s name sounded so much like the noise a man would make when stubbing his toe on a stray hydrospanner that she had to stifle a bubble of laughter. Perhaps it was her nerves; if this meeting ended in anything more than a reprimand and a veiled allusion to future missions she wasn’t sure how she’d react. Thoughts of small dark rooms tormented the back of her mind; thoughts of shuttles blasting off, leaving her as far from the Rebellion as they could dump her. What would it mean, to have to start all over again, now?

                “It’s made no difference, except to our fuel reserves and cache of torpedoes. But maybe it made the pilots feel good to have a nice, achievable objective? Maybe the Imperials were as rattled by such a bold raid as we hoped, regardless of damage inflicted?” Madine hissed air out through his teeth and swept an impatient glare over Jyn. “You, on the other hand, brought us a new transport vessel — and large, armed ships are sorely needed right now. A handful of prisoners, some of whom might be encouraged to defect, others ransomed. And crew members that the Admiral and I had calculated to be a deeply regrettable, but inevitable, loss.”

                Finally, Madine lowered his datapad, uncrossing his legs and gripping the screen held across his knees. His jaw twitched as he stared at her with hard blue eyes, but to Jyn’s surprise, one of his cheeks moved too, revealing a dimple as one side of his lips pulled into a tight smile. “Admiral Raddus refers only to ‘Sergeant Erso’ with the greatest of respect. He’ll have to answer to the Council himself for Scarif, but I do believe the Princess has already settled that argument.” Madine shook his head ruefully. “We’re going to have to think carefully about how this continues, Sergeant. If you’re with us, you’re going to have to be with us — even through the missions you might not think are important, or dramatic enough.”

                Jyn opened her mouth to protest; he made her sound like some sort of glory-hunter. But Madine raised a hand and bowed his head to hide his broadening smile.

                “There will be plenty of those, Sergeant Erso, I assure you. But I hope we can make this arrangement work. The Rebellion is lucky to have you — and with you, your team. We do want the same things, after all.”

                Madine let the grudging tone leave his voice, and Jyn blinked, offering him a confused smile. Her fingers knotted and unknotted in her lap. She’d gone in brittle and defensive, her account of the mission rising in emotion as she told it, uninterrupted by Madine. Now, having earned the General’s crinkle-eyed approval, she found herself dumbstruck.

                “Look at it this way, Sergeant,” Madine said softly. “We don’t always have the time, or the imagination, we’d like to devote to every mission. So we’re glad to have officers who show initiative. But you understand that trust must be reciprocal; if you want to alter the mission parameters from now on, please just submit a revised report to the Admirals.”

                Jyn’s thoughts wandered back in time; an ancient past, over a fortnight ago. Her body aching from cold and lack of sleep, her shoulders hunched with mistrust, and the reassuring weight of a blaster cradled in her hands for the first time in months. But across the hold of the U Wing: Cassian, his frown deep, and Kaytu’s optical sensors whirring as he waited for one of them to move. Steady brown eyes, suddenly drained of mirth, surveying every inch of her. _Trust goes both ways_.

                “Thank you, General Madine,” she murmured. Now would be the time to mention the Jedhans’ desire to follow up on Rhinzi’s information, she knew. But despite Madine’s words, despite recognising the truth of what he said, and despite wanting to show him that trust … there was something personal about the fate of the Jedhans that she did not feel she could share without Chirrut and Baze and Bodhi being present. So she swallowed her questions about Rhinzi and where he was being held, and waited to be dismissed.

…

Gathered with caf in the small briefing room down from their shared cabin, the team listened to static crackle emptily from Baze’s commlink.

                Bodhi drummed his fingers on the table and looked around them all. “She’s alright, isn’t she? I mean, the Rebellion wouldn’t lose her, it wouldn’t happen, not so soon after … well …” he swallowed.

                “I thought she was being evacuated to the fleet, along with all of us,” Baze shook his head, eyes still fixed on the commlink. “It should have no problem getting through to her.” He frowned and shifted in his chair, pulling his crossed arms tighter across his large chest. “Captain, you didn’t hear anything different, did you?”

                Cassian’s pose was a mirror of Baze’s. He shrugged tightly, ignoring the implication that he might not have shared information with them. “No. Like Councillor Mothma, she has no home outside the fleet now. I don’t know why we’re getting no reply.”

                Baze turned his eyes on Chirrut. “What do you think?”

                Recognising by his partner’s tone that he was being addressed, the other Guardian let a brief frown pass over his forehead. “It’s impossible to say for sure. The Force is clouded around her; she is more distant than any of the vessels accompanying this one. But I think she is fine, wherever she is.”

                Baze grunted. “Well. Good. But we’re on something of a schedule, aren’t we, Captain?”

                Cassian fidgeted in his own seat, meeting Baze’s stare reluctantly. “Do you know the planet Ithor, all of you?”

                Jyn shrugged and gave a noncommittal nod. She’d seen Ithorians once or twice; she knew of their reverence for nature and peaceful disposition, and took this reputation to be the reason why she’d never spoken to one or been to their planet. Bodhi nodded hesitantly too, and Baze made a sound of assent.

                “The pilgrims on Jedha often mentioned Ithor.”

                Chirrut bowed his head with a soft smile. “Yes! The gardens of Ithor; sentient forests; a planet rich with the strength of the Force!”

                “Yeah. Well. That may be where its strength lies, but it’s something of a nesting whisper bird to the Empire,” Cassian’s voice was gentle, but his expression was grim and surly. “There was a situation there some years ago; the Empire held the planet ransom; they wanted information on the Ithorians’ agriculture. One native eventually gave them what they wanted in order to save the forest. He was banished by his own people for it.” He scanned the faces of everyone else at the table. “If the Empire thinks Ithor is keeping anything from them again they know that threats will eventually get them what they want.”

                “And the Rebellion can only offer protection if Ithor joins it officially,” Jyn surmised. “Especially with the fleet shortages right now.”

                “But we don’t know that the Ithorian Rhinzi heard about was on Ithor, do we?” Bodhi asked. He put emphasis on the name of the species; the Empire preferred its own to refer to other beings by derogatory nicknames where they existed, but Bodhi was reclaiming a new vocabulary with fierce determination.

                “We don’t,” Cassian agreed.

                “Was the connection between pilgrims on Jedha and pilgrims who had been to Ithor strong?” Jyn asked Baze and Chirrut.

                Baze tilted his head from side to side with a shrug and a vague expression, but Chirrut nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Quite strong. I think it drew as many spiritualists from Ithor as those who sought to visit every Jedi temple. The path of the Whills is older and less structured than the path taken by the Jedi.”

                “So if this … refugee ship,” Jyn glanced around to see the others murmur agreement with the term, “was looking for a new place for Jedhans and Alderaanians to settle, then Ithor itself would be a good starting point, as much as some Ithorian exile in a backworld cantina?”

                “It’s where I’d start looking for information,” Cassian met her eyes across the table. “But it’s also where Rhinzi’s information will have taken the Empire. Ideally, we’ll go there on Raddus’ behalf — and _soon_ — and then we’ll see whether there’s any way of following this up.”

                “You don’t think that Ithor was their final destination?” Baze reached out to at last retrieve the quietly hissing commlink and switch it off.

                Cassian shook his head firmly. “They’re too insular, the Ithorians. They don’t even set foot on the planet’s surface; they’d struggle to integrate that many humans easily. But they have impressive archives. They’ll know what the Jedhans are looking for, and the Alderaanians.”

                “Here’s hoping Raddus comes through for us again,” Bodhi sighed.

…

Jyn thought she might go stir crazy on the _Home One_. Her hours were spent between the gym and the briefing room by the caf station. She read every file she could access on Ithor, Jedha, Alderaan and any other planet linked to them. She punished her muscles against padded equipment and she punished her mind, climbing rungs set into the plast walls and reliving the data stack on Scarif, especially on the artificially-induced nights when sleep eluded her.

                Her arm healed quickly with frequent changes of the bacta patch; it drew the threads of her heat-cancelling suit out of the wound, and shiny, pink skin puckered where melted black material had been. Each visit to the med bay brought the distraction of morbid fascination; Jyn peered at the way the bacta treatment nibbled away at the wound.

                Under Saw’s team they’d had access to bacta patches in emergencies, but they’d been heavily rationed. She remembered the first time she’d seen a team member immersed in one of the tanks on Commenor, benefitting from the wider network they’d worked with there. Jyn had been young still, and the sight of the body floating in greenish, thick liquid had haunted her dreams for months afterwards. Later, on her own, she’d come to view bacta as an unnecessary luxury; a treatment that made people complacent and soft. But now the speed with which the skin on her arm thickened and closed over the wound was astonishing to her; it would barely leave a scar, unlike so many other injuries she’d treated herself for.

                Raddus had managed to meet her briefly to explain that he had no authority to give them a mission until after his holo-conference with the Council. The time stretched, and a few days felt like half a standard year; Jyn didn’t worry particularly about the phantom ship of survivors they were meant to be chasing; it seemed unreal, half-formed in Rhinzi’s piecemeal account; she just wanted to be told they would have _something_ to do soon. But despite Madine’s leniency he’d told her that they’d likely have to undergo secondary evaluations before their next mission. Baze and Chirrut and Bodhi had only received rudimentary interviews on Yavin 4, following their return from Eadu, and Jyn supposed she’d not received anything comparable other than her first meeting with Draven, Councillor Mothma, and Cassian. And that had been more of a strong-arm-by-committee than a recruitment evaluation.

                She could have taken solace in Cassian’s frustration being worse than her own, but she tried not to let herself notice it. They were all impatient, yet it clearly rankled him to be treated like a new recruit because of two instances of disobedience at the end of twenty years of loyalty. His body was healing slowly, as befitted his injuries, and Jyn only saw him in the gym in brief stints.

                Once, she’d glanced down from the climbing rungs and had seen him look up, pausing as he crossed the floor beneath her. She’d nearly lost her grip, panic sweeping up over her like a wave as her mind rushed back to the archives on Scarif. The sharpest, coldest memory was of the way she’d watched his body fall away from her, and how she’d thought about letting go and following him. Unable to stop the movement, she reached an arm behind her to check for a data tape on her belt. She saw Cassian’s eyes widen, saw something like horror scud across his own features before he turned and moved resolutely away, out of her sight. Jyn had returned her hand to the rungs and breathed deeply. That had been enough climbing for the time.

                Playing sabacc with Bodhi and Baze helped to kill a few more hours of each day; Bodhi turned out to be a sly, accomplished player, and Baze’s almost-offended astonishment at losing made her grin with something like ease. The three of them played in the briefing room one evening when an announcement crackled over the comms. Jyn was used to tuning out the various statements of ships coming and going; the requests for so-and-so to report to deck such-and-such; but this one got the attention of everyone in the room.

                “Rogue Squadron docking in Hangar G in ten. Repair, resupply and refuel.”

                Bodhi slapped his cards down on the table — face down of course. “What,” he exclaimed flatly. “What is ‘Rogue Squadron’?”

                “Bloody fighter pilots,” Jyn muttered, getting to her feet. Her body was already moving before the thought that was driving it had fully coalesced.

                “Where are you going? I might be about to win this round!” Baze objected.

                She frowned at him, pondering the announcement once more. “That Luke Skywalker was staying with the fighters, wasn’t he? And he seemed to be pretty close to the Princess after the rescue?”

                Bodhi snickered, “he _wanted_ to be pretty close to her I think.” Baze turned a surprised, toothy grin on him and chuckled back.

                “Come on, Bodhi, the squadrons move around loads, maybe one of the pilots has heard something,” Jyn rolled her eyes.

                “They hear whatever they think you want to hear,” Cassian’s voice came from the doorway. He looked like he’d just emerged from the sonic: his hair was fluffy and dishevelled, and, unusually, the fingers that held his mug of caf weren’t black with electrical grease.

                Jyn gurned at him too. “Alright, super spy, but I’m going to check it out. Force knows, maybe I’ll just steal an X Wing and get off this sterile hunk of plast.”

                Cassian smiled and shrugged over her shoulder at Bodhi and Baze. The three of them trailed her with quiet curiosity as she marched towards the turbolifts and led them to Hangar G.

                Orange suits were emerging from the starfighters in the newly-bustling space. The first face that Jyn saw out of a helmet was, shockingly, one she recognised. But it wasn’t Skywalker.

                Her footfalls slowed, and her hands clenched. She thought she heard a splutter from Cassian as he recognised the man around the rim of his mug of caf.

                The pilot was ruffling his dark hair, half-turned and joking loudly with woman behind him. When he caught sight of Jyn, his grin broadened impossibly, and he opened his mouth as if to greet her.

                Jyn pounced.

                She wrapped her fists into the loose orange flightsuit and drove him back against the access ladder of the nearest ship. An astromech droid beeped in alarm somewhere nearby, and without looking, Jyn knew that her team had followed her, forming a semi-circle behind her to look on.

                “Janson,” she snarled. “Thanks for the hangover.”

                Janson beamed, but she was pleased to hear a hint of a quiver in his laugh. “You liked the Yavin 4 vintage, then?”

                “It’s a relief to know my insides will be free of space barnacles for years to come,” she mocked, keeping her glare serious, but with just enough levity in her voice to make Janson uncertain. “What’s this kriffing ‘Rogue Squadron’ business, then?”

                Janson’s eyebrows shot up, and his cocky grin faded for the first time she’d seen. “Oh! You didn’t know?” He peered around her head to look at Baze, Bodhi and Cassian. Jyn gave him a shake to return his attention to her. She waited, her lips thin and stern.

                He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair again, managing to look almost genuinely bashful as he looked away from her glare. “We got a new name. Those of us left after Yavin, well … we liked your style, _Rogue One_.”

                Slowly, ostentatiously, she turned to look at the others, her brows raised. Baze stood with his feet apart and arms folded, the grin on his face more in enjoyment at the spectacle than anything else. Cassian’s eyes held a smile, but his expression was cunning; expectant. Bodhi’s mouth had dropped open and his eyes were wide. She thought that pride had won out over disbelief; the colour of his skin had deepened at his cheeks and ears.

                Letting a rakish grin spread, Jyn turned back to Janson. “That’s sweet,” she cooed, “what’s ‘our style’?”

                He gaped, but the confidence had returned to his features. He was enjoying the game, and Jyn almost wanted to let him go once she realised it. Instead, she tightened her grip.

                “Well … well, you sure get things done. Scarif; the Death Star; even that crazy prison raid. You give people a reason to cheer. Hope, I guess,” Janson’s blue eyes sparkled.

                Jyn allowed a small nod, but continued to glare at him. “Okay, Janson. And what can you tell me about the whereabouts of Leia Organa?”

                His gaze flickered in surprise and he blinked. He was probably a bit younger than her, and Jyn gathered that the pilots weren’t as used to having to hide their thought processes as some other units were. She tilted her chin and raised her eyebrows again for emphasis.

                “Oh. Um. The Princess? You don’t know? No, well, she’s er, she’s away.”

                Jyn felt her team crowd closer. Cassian came to stand by her side, his frown full of concern. “Away where?” His voice was rough and impatient.

                Janson tried a friendly nod and wave, then looked back at Jyn and let his shoulders slump as he rolled his eyes. “She nearly knocked my wingmate out of the sky. She and Evaan — one of the Yavin survivors — an Alderaanian — disappeared around a standard week back. Command is pulling its hair out. She’s got a huge bounty on her head after Yavin, the Empire’s desperate to get its claws on her.”

                “Where is she?” Jyn pressed, her fingers starting to unfurl from the orange material.

                Janson relaxed with her grip, finally holding a serious expression. “There have been rumours since Alderaan. The Imps are doubling-down on the whole genocide business,” his mouth curled with distaste. “Apparently, they’ve been stamping out colonies of Alderaanians on every other planet they can find them on. Best guess is that Leia knows about some she thinks she can save before the Empire discovers them.”

                Jyn looked over at Cassian, whose face was tired and grim. All the hard lines and edges she remembered seeing when she’d first met him had returned. They both turned wordlessly to Bodhi and Baze, who appeared equally subdued.

                “That settles it then, huh?” Bodhi said quietly.

                Baze’s big chest rumbled with a sound of agreement and he nodded his head down, dropping one hand on Bodhi’s shoulder.

                Janson was giving the game away when Jyn turned back to him: he was far less of a fool than he acted. The pilot eyed her and Cassian shrewdly and Jyn released him to take a step back. “So … what’s _Rogue One_ ’s interest in the Princess?”

                Jyn exchanged another look with Cassian, but Bodhi barrelled forwards, gripping her arm as he came to stand by her. “How easily do you think you could keep the tractor beam operators distracted here?”

                Cassian let an exasperated breath out and leaned around her to look at Bodhi; his face was serious when he met Cassian’s glare though, and Jyn saw he was ready to defend bringing Janson in on this.

                The X Wing pilot ran his gaze over all of them, a sparkle of trouble returning to his eyes and the smirk on his lips. “I should think a few Rogues could manage that quite easily. We’re happy to help out our own, after all.”

                Bodhi smiled a small, tight smile and looked back at Cassian defiantly. “You know we were at Jedha. I’m from Jedha, so are Baze and Chirrut. We’ve heard similar things about the Alderaanians on Coruscant, along with the Jedhans there. We need to follow up a lead, and we need to do it _quickly_ ; command is dragging its feet though.”

                Janson let his gaze linger on Bodhi thoughtfully. “Insubordination, disobedience and rebellion,” he murmured. “That’s what I signed up for! We’re on board for a standard day while they refresh our birds. Find us at the caf station on Level 8 whenever you need us.”

                “Why? Why are you helping?” Cassian asked.

                The pilot shrugged, looking evasive again. “We’ve had some Alderaanian recruits of our own. Like I said, you guys get things done; it seems like a waste to keep you stuck here waiting for some general or senator to get the stick removed from their ass. To be honest, I don’t think anyone really knows what to do with the victory at Yavin yet.”

                Jyn almost laid a calming hand on Cassian’s arm, but diverted the gesture to sweep her hair back from her face. “It’s fine. I trust him. He’s probably killed so many brain cells with that hooch that he genuinely thinks it’s a good idea to help us,” she smiled crookedly, ignoring Janson’s huff of protest.

                She half-turned back to Janson. “We’ll be in touch. Caf station on Level 8.”

                He nodded at her, then again at Bodhi, who lingered a moment before following Jyn, Cassian and Baze from the hangar. Only a few paces on, Cassian came to a halt in the corridor, bringing them all to a stop around him. “Look; we knew we didn’t have support at Scarif. We thought it would be easier to change things ourselves at Nam Chorios. But can we at least put this to General Madine? Or to Admiral Raddus formally? We still need the information on his Ithorian contact.”

                “We won’t get away today, even if they do agree it,” Baze returned.

                “We wouldn’t need to if we were authorised to leave.”

                “But you said yourself we needed to catch up quickly. We’ve lost so much time already,” Bodhi sounded stubborn on this point, and Jyn was inclined to agree with him. Now that they’d spoken of it out loud again, and established the possibility of leaving without authorisation, Jyn couldn’t bear the idea of stopping and waiting again.

                It was Baze, unusually, who relented first. He finally unfolded one of his arms and gave Cassian a rough squeeze on the shoulder. “Let’s go and find the Admiral. And Chirrut. We’re all still figuring out how this works, but the Captain has to be on board with the rest of us.”

                Cassian’s expression was still hard, but he met Baze’s eyes with a minute nod. “Okay. If Raddus still can’t do anything for us, we’ll bring in the squadron.”

…

It was several hours before they were able to track down Admiral Raddus between the myriad meetings and briefings keeping him busy. When the five of them finally entered his office without having to explain themselves to an aide or subordinate on the way, he greeted them cheerily, but cautiously.

                “Still waiting for mission clearance?” he guessed.

                Jyn found herself standing at the front of the group, de facto leader once more. “Sir, we need to act on the information Rhinzi brought. We might be the only ones who can find out what happened to that ship, and if we’re the only ones who can save them from the Empire then we should be out there, not waiting to explain our reasons for joining the Rebellion yet again.”

                Raddus blinked his eyes at each of them in turn, his large mouth working ponderously. “And you believe that you should be the crew responsible for this, because …?”

                “We’re from Jedha ourselves,” Bodhi exclaimed. “Alderaan might have been a more impressive spectacle, but the damage to our world was no less — we were all there, and I know _I_ feel responsible! If I’d just … just been braver, sooner, explained better to Saw,” he shook his head, some memory making his whole body shudder with revulsion. “I couldn’t save my homeworld. I want to save any survivors I can though.”

                “We know what sort of safe haven they’ll be seeking, we have an advantage over the Empire in that, and an advantage over other crews,” Baze agreed quietly.

                “And I know Ithor,” Cassian added, the words coming from him almost unbidden. He folded his arms and glared at Raddus’ desk.

                “Hmm,” Raddus made a sound deep in his bulbous throat, spinning a little on his chair to tap something on his data console. “I still can’t authorise it alone unfortunately; my holo-meeting with the Council was only this afternoon. Everything happens so slowly these days; we are losing the initiative, too stunned by our own good fortune at Yavin to move forward decisively.” Awkwardly, his flippered hand withdrew a datastick from the console, and he held it out to Jyn.

                “This will help you to get in touch with my contact on Ithor. Is your ship fuelled and supplied?”

                They all glanced around, surprise clear on everyone’s expression. Jyn slowly took the datastick and folded it away into a pocket.

                “Yes. Yes sir, it is,” Bodhi leaned forward to confirm.

                Raddus folded his long middle fingers together in front of him and grumbled another noise, satisfaction warring with frustration. He fixed his eyes on Jyn again: “and you’ll be able to get clear of _Home One_ without causing any damage?”

                She looked at Bodhi, grateful for his quick thinking with Janson. “Yes sir, within hours we can be on our way.”

                Raddus closed his eyes as he nodded, his wide lips curved in an approximation of a smile. “Good. I’ll ensure your mission is approved retroactively, but in all likelihood time is of the essence. If you are too late for the refugees, gather what information you can and report back to me about Ithor’s readiness to join the Rebellion.”

                With a flurry of salutes and relieved grins, they jostled from Raddus’ office and returned to their shared cabin.

                Cassian moved swifter than any of them, packing his satchel with professional speed. “I’m going to scrub the ship and collect some supplies. Ithor could be crawling with Imperials by now — we go in as traders and pilgrims, and you take the covers you’re assigned, okay?”

                There was no disagreement, so he left, and shortly afterwards Chirrut abandoned his preparations to Baze, slipping out with no explanation. Bodhi, Jyn and Baze headed for the caf station Janson had told them about, trusting that most people wandering the corridors of _Home One_ would assume they’d been granted clearance for wherever they were going in such a hurry; and that the senior officers would be occupied in their offices and briefing rooms as Raddus had been for most of the day.

                Janson grinned when he saw them; he introduced the rest of the squadron with pride, ending with Skywalker, who now led them. Each pilot murmured something about how happy they were to be associated with the _Rogue One_ crew.

                “Nothing explosive or destructive; we just want something to keep them from locking a tractor beam on us until we get clear of the fleet, okay?” Jyn explained, tutting at Janson’s elaborate eyeroll at the words ‘nothing explosive’.

                Luke Skywalker brought his big, earnest blue eyes to bear on them. “You bet. We’ll give you a clear run.” He looked more serious than Jyn remembered at Yavin, and she wondered how he was coping with the knowledge that Leia was far from his or Solo’s assistance now. He seemed settled amongst the pilots, at least.

                “We’re in Hangar B,” Jyn nodded thanks.

                Bodhi accepted a commlink from a woman introduced as Shara Bey. “You just buzz when you want your distraction,” she smiled.

                “Rogues stick together,” agreed Wedge, a dark-haired Corellian. “May the Force be with you!”

                As they walked to their shuttle, Jyn felt like her boots could have been hovering inches from the surface of the deck. She could almost imagine the Pathfinders willing them on, and let herself think of all the people she’d fought with before who she’d still have on her team if she could. It was surprisingly comforting to realise how many there were, at least so long as she didn’t dwell on the hurt of each loss. They were carving out their own corner of the Rebellion already, identifying likeminded others within a vast, bureaucratic entity of conflicting priorities.

                When they reached the shuttle, Cassian was at work in the cockpit but there was still no sign of Chirrut.

                “Any idea where he is?” Jyn tried not to let her exasperation come through as she turned to Baze.

                His head was bowed over his weapon, but he gave her one of his world-weary looks from heavy-lidded eyes. “A pretty good idea, yeah. He’ll be here soon,” Baze returned to checking the cannon, avoiding Jyn’s questioning face.

                She sighed and trudged over to the flight chairs, trying not to worry about Chirrut’s absences over the last few days. He couldn’t have gone further than the _Home One_ at any rate, although Jyn had been surprised in this instance that Chirrut hadn’t been with Skywalker and the pilots in the caf station.

                Piles of cloth lay folded on the seats in various dark, earthy colours, and Jyn was absentmindedly running a hand over the rough linens when Cassian re-emerged from the cockpit. He wiped the worst of the electrical grease off his hands onto an old rag and nodded at the coloured cloth.

                “Pilgrims’ robes. It was easy enough to fake the documents for the supply staff; they’ve got all kinds of things on board.”

                Jyn raised an eyebrow; she’d prided herself on having the skills to mock up any necessary files well enough to live through all her previous identities, but it would have taken her an hour at least to do the same to her satisfaction. The more she thought about it the more impressive Cassian’s abilities seemed; she began to wonder what it had taken to reprogram an Imperial security droid from scratch and allowed herself a wry smirk. “Where were you when we were caught smuggling on Sullust?”

                He tilted his head, but didn’t ask for details; he’d likely already read them on her file, she reflected.

                “Your face is probably still on Imperial systems, and Bodhi’s too. I’ve got a breathing mask for him; we’ll pose as traders, you and Baze and Chirrut will be our passengers: pilgrims travelling to Ithor’s holy gardens from Tython, via Corellia.”

                Before Jyn could acknowledge the plan, two hurried sets of steps clattered up the landing ramp. Baze groaned. Bodhi swore. “No way,” Cassian shook his head, moving around her and the flight chairs to gesture at the new arrivals. “No, for Force’s sake, you didn’t …”

                Chirrut smiled serenely in the direction of Cassian’s reddening face and tugged a confused, scared-looking Rhinzi forward. “Bodhi, I’d send our friends to distract the tractor beam operators around about now,” the Guardian informed the pilot in steady, calm tones.

                “ … yeah,” Bodhi managed, spinning and dashing for the cockpit. “Cassian! Are you co-piloting? Everyone else — seats for take-off! It could be a little bumpy at first.”

                Baze pressed the panel to close the landing ramp, and Cassian finally followed Bodhi, his eyes on Rhinzi until the last possible moment. A stream of swear words in a dozen languages rose from the access shaft as he disappeared down it.

                Jyn raised her eyebrows at the three Jedhans left in the hold; Baze rolled his eyes and shrugged in resignation, whilst Rhinzi offered one of his subservient little nods and muttered something about the Force. Chirrut guided him to a flight chair with such ease that Jyn recalled the cockiness he’d displayed back in Jedha City.

                She shifted the robes and strapped herself into a seat, shaking her head at Chirrut, but sharing the beginnings of a smile with Baze. Bodhi and Cassian’s voices were muffled by the sound of the ship’s engines, and they were moving; leaving the hangar with the unmistakeable bounce in her stomach as they exited _Home One_ ’s grav field and their own took primacy. She managed an incredulous laugh when she managed to discern the fleet’s alarmed response: “ _Rogue One_! You are not cleared for take-off!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Janson GET OUT what are you even doing in my fic? Also did I just invent Janson/Bodhi?
> 
> tbf I'll ship Janson with anything sentient and consenting.
> 
> Thanks again to all who keep coming back and reading and commenting, and to any new lovelies who drop by with kudos. You all rock my world <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all you beautiful, patient, lovely people! I have a heap of chapters for you now that my internet speed is functional once more. Enjoy, and as ever, thanks for being along for the ride :)

Cassian had known Chirrut was visiting Rhinzi frequently on the _Home One_. Chirrut himself was no doubt aware of Cassian’s knowledge. He’d never sought to hide his destination, or to confuse anyone following him on his trips to the brig. Whether he’d managed to share any words in private with the former Imperial was something Cassian could not know; visits would usually be supervised by security staff, but Chirrut’s mysterious way with people left Cassian wondering.

                Now he watched sourly as Jyn and Baze offered the old man robes, both clearly more amused by the unexpected addition to their team than annoyed.

                “There. Now we’re three pilgrims and three traders, no problem!” Jyn arranged a thick swathe of material around Rhinzi’s greying head. “And you can pull this part up over the lower half of your face. Like Bodhi and me, your features are probably on file.”

                “Four pilgrims,” Chirrut amended. “I don’t need any robes other than my own; nor does Baze. It makes more sense for the traders to simply be pilot and co-pilot.”

                The milky blue eyes flashed at Cassian along with Chirrut’s cheeky grin. He was trying to be placatory, and Cassian rolled his eyes and exhaled, not wanting to show his acceptance of the unexpected addition just yet.

                They knew next to nothing about the situation on Ithor, and now they had a doddering non-combatant to guard. And another count of trouble-making to add to their names, supposing they returned to _Home One_ at some point in the future; how would Raddus ‘retroactively approve’ the release of a prisoner who was still needed for questioning?

                He knew these were concerns that the others were aware of; they just couldn’t be raised, not now and not by him. The Jedhans weren’t prepared to leave one of their own behind, not when they held the possibility of finding a new homeworld, of rediscovering the remains of their people. He saw that; but Cassian almost missed the simplicity of working alone, to parameters he set for himself, where it was his decision — and his only — how to handle the unexpected.

                “Well,” Bodhi said lightly, looking between Cassian and the others awkwardly. “At least we know we have friends in Rogue Squadron, eh?”

                Baze grinned. “That’s certain. I think that Janson was almost hoping Jyn would knock him around some, so he could boast about it to his wingmates.”

                “Ugh,” said Jyn, from somewhere beneath the swathe of material she was hoisting over her head.

                “Do you think so?” Bodhi asked a bit too quickly, his cheeks brightening visibly, even in the low light of the hold.

                “He’s all yours, Bodhi,” Jyn grimaced, her face emerging from the cowled neck of a rust-brown robe. She blew hair out of her face and smoothed down the material, trying to look gruff, but shooting a wicked grin at Bodhi as he made protesting noises.

                Cassian decided against warning Bodhi about the short lives of fighter pilots and slumped in a flight chair instead, scanning his datapad. “I’ve got identities for all of us here — well, I’ll add one for Rhinzi. Jyn, have you got Raddus’ datastick?”

                She pulled a face and plucked at her robe. “You could have asked before I put this on!” but after rummaging in the hand slits at the sides she produced the datastick and handed it to him.

                Raddus did not reach his contact directly; they’d be told how to reach him by the temple guardians in the central gardens of Ithor’s spaceport city. Cassian identified the main hostel for pilgrims and visitors to the planet and decided that they’d book rooms there; the Admiral had at least provided them with the codes to access a credit account. He and Bodhi would go there from the market; the ‘pilgrims’ would get their next instructions at the garden temple.

                Reports on the HoloNet suggested at least one Imperial garrison on planet, with support above-world in the form of an old qaz-class star destroyer. The things bristled with weapons, although Cassian suspected that if the Empire was deploying one in favour of a newer model it might be a sign that their resources were beginning to stretch thin.

                When he’d updated the manifest to include an identity for Rhinzi, and everyone had agreed on the plan for arrival, he retreated to the bunks below deck. The darkness and the closeness of the engines in the small shuttle made it easier to close his eyes and relax than aboard the _Home One_ , but he didn’t quite drift into sleep.

                Jyn still apologised when he opened his eyes at the sound of boots descending the ladder into the modified cabin space.

                “It’s okay,” he murmured, propping himself up on his elbows with a questioning frown.

                She waited by the access shaft, half-silhouetted by the dim light from above. It was hard to see her expression, but she folded her arms and fidgeted, looking down as she found what she’d been planning on saying. “You know, we can get whatever information Rhinzi’s not yet given them ourselves. I bet you know the standard questions they ask; we can make sure we bring his knowledge of whatever department he worked for back to the fleet, even if we manage to leave him somewhere safe with the other Jedhans.”

                Despite his frustration with the situation, he smiled at her diplomatic tone. “That’s a big ‘even if’.”

                She shrugged. She was looking at him directly now, but only the tip of her nose and the line of her jawbone were lit. “Sorry none of us is really doing things by the books.”

                He sighed ruefully, shifting to sit on the edge of the cot and leaning his arms on his thighs. “It’s okay. I guess it will be. I don’t know how long we can keep doing this by committee though. Missions — military, intelligence, whatever — they need structure. They need leaders. _A_ leader, who everyone tells everything to, and who makes the final decision.” He looked up, but he still couldn’t see her face properly. “I don’t mean me; it’s just…” he remembered Draven’s open offer and trailed off uneasily. _The bonds formed on missions like that can wear thin quicker than you’d think_. He rubbed his face angrily with his palms and shoved that thought away; it was just taking a while to get used to a new way of working, he told himself.

                Jyn took half a step forward, and he could finally make out a self-deprecating smirk through the dark shadows of her features. Her eyes were soft though; maybe even concerned. “I know. None of us want to make any of this formal yet. But I guess we’ll have to. Eventually. This _is_ personal for them, though. Just like Operation Fracture was for me.”

                She used the official name of the mission he’d been given; the mission to use her as a way into Saw Gerrera’s trust, to use her to get to Galen Erso, and to dispatch Galen Erso as soon as he was able to. It must have come from the files he’d given her back on Yavin 4; a fearful curiosity to know what she’d added to Galen’s file in particular crept up on him. Did she say anything about his decision on Eadu? About how furious she’d been when she’d found out the purpose of Operation Fracture?

                He swallowed nervously against the questions, examining the knuckles of his hands, folded between his knees. “Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” he lied.

                He sensed her gaze linger on him for a while before her feet moved out of his peripheral vision. She sighed softly and he heard her boot clang on the ladder. “All right. But if you want them to pass on what they’re planning, or hoping for, remember: trust goes both ways.” She paused once more before ascending, and he managed to look up in time to catch her eye.

                She was spot lit by the access hatch above, her eyes a cold glint of green. Her jaw moved as though she was going to add something else, but instead she gave him a curt nod and climbed up out of the cabin.

                When she’d last spoken those words to him they’d both been in the early stages of bargaining. It hadn’t been trust that she had placed in him or the Rebellion when she’d grudgingly agreed to join Operation Fracture. And he hadn’t let her keep that blaster she’d stolen because he _trusted_ anything about her jagged, hurt defensiveness. But through all that followed he’d found himself place every precious ounce of that elusive faith in a woman, windswept and dusty, grinning like a fiend in the heat at the top of Scarif’s archive tower.

                Cassian lay back on the bunk and stared at the underside of the mattress above him, his hands clenched in two fists on his abdomen. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he wondered why he’d just tried to claim no mission had ever mattered personally to him. Long years of habit, perhaps? Enough reckless scrapes from his teenage years came to mind; prison raids and attacks on cadets, each planet bringing the hope he’d see his father’s face amongst ragged detainees — or that he’d stop seeing his father’s face if he just killed enough Imperial volunteers.

And Scarif. That had been personal, beyond any of those time-dulled memories; it had meant redress, a balancing of the deeds he’d done in service of the Rebellion. And when all was balanced, and there was no need to go on, he found he’d still not done enough. He’d disobeyed Draven, Mothma, the whole Council, and he’d followed something bright and shining that had turned out to be stardust, and he’d disobeyed his own body’s order to let himself lie still and shut down from shock and pain. He’d made it to the top of the Citadel and he’d let himself be led onwards from there.

                But admitting to himself any emotional attachment, to any of the team quietly chatting above him in the hold, went against everything he’d thought he’d become in Draven’s service. And the only terror he’d felt that rivalled the terror of exploring what they might mean to him had been the fear he’d felt when he thought the Death Star might have found its lucky third strike above Yavin 4. She’d moved simultaneously with him, her arms strong, hands clutching his shoulders and pulling him down, as close to her as he could be. Sensations he could barely remember now had seemed greater than the green laser that was surely about to engulf them in that moment: the way her hair caught in his beard, her thumbs brushing hot on the back of his neck, his arms holding her breath as they encircled her.

                And when he couldn’t imagine doing anything else he’d pulled her from the ruins of Jedha, and the galaxy had let them survive, and he’d had to ask himself why he’d done that when her role in the mission was over. And on Scarif, when he’d made it to the top of the Citadel and saved her from Krennic’s blaster, he’d relaxed into her hold, let himself study every inch of her features as though he’d never get the chance again, and somehow, they had survived, and he’d had to live with the memory of the way she’d looked at him in return. Again, the Death Star had found them on Yavin 4, and again, he’d allowed himself to admit that, with seconds left to live, all he wanted was to be as close as possible to the wild thing that had snarled her way into his life a few long days before.

                How, now, was he to escape the inertia brought on by the knowledge that no planet-killer would force him to admit any such thing again? In a galaxy without the Death Star, Cassian doubled down, trying to recover the memory of who he’d been before Operation Fracture. But it was hard to square with the different missions he wanted now, with the new working environment, and the way that the crew of _Rogue One_ clearly cared for one another — even if not one of them seemed to be able to articulate that care simply or directly.

                At least this mission promised breathing space, the time to explore the situation on Ithor and any new information as and when it arose, and that was something he was grateful for. It was more like the procedure of his old work: find a lead and follow it as far as possible. But with the promise of securing a group of vulnerable refugees from the Empire, rather than the mission endings his was more accustomed to. And now they were free of the enforced crowding that living on the _Home One_ came with. He calmed himself with the thought that, whatever any of them had chosen to do after Scarif, their experiences would have marked them deeply enough that reengaging with the galaxy would never be a smooth ride.

                Cassian sighed and returned to his seat on the edge of the cot, resolved to go back up to the hold and run through the plan for Ithor again; to ensure that he heard full agreement of the details from all of those board. He’d pushed down all the questions, doubts, and insistently nagging emotions for now. He rubbed a hand over his chest, digging fingers into his collarbones through the thin fabric of his shirt, trying to loosen the dense, heavy sensation there.

                Before he’d made it to his feet, the sound of someone descending the ladder intruded once more. He looked up with a rueful smile, half-expecting Jyn to have returned (or was that hoping?). His eyebrows raised when he recognised Baze’s hefty boots clumping down the rungs instead. He waited, his curiosity piqued.

                The older man grunted as he arrived in the lower deck, maybe in greeting, or maybe as an acknowledgement of an ache or twinge. He moved to lean against the bunk opposite Cassian, his arms folded and eyes hooded in his customary attitude of unreadable nonchalance. Cassian continued to wait, surveying Baze in return. Eventually the mercenary managed a small, but warm smile.

                “Thank you for understanding. With Rhinzi.”

                He didn’t feel the need to sugar-coat any of his words with Baze; their similarities were worn on the surface, and mutual respect did not require him to be anything other than what was expected. “I don’t pretend to understand. And it’s not for me to tell you this will only complicate our return. But he’s here now, and we’ll make the best of it.”

                Baze chuckled mirthlessly. “You understand well enough, Captain. You’ve not lost a home that was blasted from under your own feet, but Chirrut’s no fool; you can lose a home in many ways.”

                Cassian ground his teeth, trying not to show that he was unnerved by any of this. “Is he actually a Jedi then?”

                Now Baze guffawed openly, his head tilting back. “That’s a whole different question. He’s trusted both you and Jyn since we were in NiJedha, and I follow where he leads. He knows this team works. But he’s always done things his own way; as, I suspect, have all of us.”

                At that, Cassian allowed a hard smirk, dropping his eyes to his knuckles. He rubbed a thumb compulsively at the grease on his hands, the motion sending the grime deeper rather than cleaning it. “I follow orders, Baze,” he said quietly.

                The other man’s amusement did not dissipate. “Yeah, and you’re the guy who looked at an Imperial killing bot and decided it’d make a great best friend. Let’s not even get started on the orders you’ve received since we met.” Baze let a gentle sigh out and stepped forwards, dropping a great paw on Cassian’s shoulder. He tried not to wince as he looked up into the face of kindly acceptance. “What I’m saying, I suppose, is that you’re as much a part of this as the rest of us. We’re glad you chose to come with us, little brother.”

                The final words produced a strange sensation, like hot liquid on his skin, melting through some of the tension in his chest. Baze didn’t stay to examine the effect of his speech, but backed off, giving Cassian the space to compose his bewildered expression. After a moment in which the sound of the hyperdrive engines filled the warm silence, Baze put his boot back on the ladder. “Want to run over the details for our landing again, Captain?”

                Cassian stood and swept his palms down his outfit, trying to smooth the shakiness out of his limbs. He swallowed and gave a clipped nod, arranging his body in a way that felt close to normal, if still somewhat dislocated from the world around him. “Sounds good to me.”


	18. Chapter 18

The robes felt cumbersome over her own clothes, but Jyn couldn’t deny the feeling of impenetrability they granted her. She pulled the rough fabric of the saffron-yellow hood forwards to leave only her eyes visible above the thick swathe of material covering the lower half of her face. Rhinzi’s anxious, watery eyes peered out at her from a similar covering, whilst Chirrut and Baze looked relaxed in their own outfits.

                Weapons were to be left on board, but Jyn had a vibroblade in her boot, and she was fairly sure that Baze and Cassian would have hidden similar items about themselves; the Ithorians were unlikely to have enforced their no-weapons rule on the stormtroopers now patrolling the planet’s capital city.

                Cassian and Bodhi led their party across the landing pad to where an Ithorian customs official and a handful of stormtroopers waited. Professing an enthusiasm for the planet’s native fungi and handing a datapad over, Cassian allowed himself a swift glance over his and Bodhi’s passengers. Chirrut was leaning on Baze in order to give the impression that he needed leading, and Rhinzi kept his eyes down. Jyn worked to keep her own gaze away from the troopers, trying to think of what a pilgrim to Ithor might be interested in.

                The city beyond the spaceport looked modern and sleek, with spires of aerials and decorative forms rising above the buildings. On closer examination, these proved to be woven from the living boughs of a sliver-barked tree. Dark foliage topped each building, and spots of colour dotted the city where flowers bloomed in pinks, oranges and blues. The air was warm and humid, but fresher than Yavin 4’s atmosphere. They were suspended hundreds of metres above the deep green of the jungle, so that low clouds caught on the spires and tall trunks of the silvery trees; sweet, musky scents hung heavy with the water vapour until chill breezes shifted them. A native species of bird or flying mammal rode the currents, whirling and calling above them.

                Jyn couldn’t recall being on a planet like it before; the air, the temperature, the smells and sounds all felt somehow invigorating; a challenging call to life. She still wasn’t convinced by whatever it was that had taken people to Jedha from all over the galaxy, but her first taste of Ithor made her feel like she could play the role of pilgrim well enough here. The damp air stirred long-dormant memories of Lah’mu: her mother’s hands covered in dark, rich earth as she worked in the fields and garden; a crumbly streak of soil across her brow from where she’d tried to wipe a tendril of hair away; her father laughing at the sight of it and smoothing Lyra’s forehead with his thumb.

                Jyn shivered. She didn’t notice that their manifest had been accepted until Cassian and Baze were ushered forward to answer a few cursory questions from the stormtroopers. The Ithorian official was left to blink hazily down at Jyn and her fellow ‘pilgrims’, her expression seemingly serene, but ultimately unreadable to Jyn.

                “Welcome to Ithor, travellers,” she said, her voice woody and resonant, emerging from the wide mouths on each side of her neck. With impossibly long fingers she plucked garlands of brightly coloured flowers from a pouch at her waist and placed one on each of their heads. “May you find what you seek. Go in peace about our city, where all life is respected.”

                She nodded her head at each of them as they passed, holding twig-like fingers up to the centre of her head, between the two heavy-lidded eyes. Numbly, Jyn managed to echo the gesture, her breath catching on the thick scent of the flowers she now wore. As she caught up with the others Baze sneezed, and she heard him grumble a question: “if we’re to respect the life here, what are they doing picking the damned flowers?”

                Chirrut’s lilting laugh seemed to mingle with the cries of the creatures swooping above the city. “These have fallen naturally, Baze.” He sucked in a deep breath, casting his head back to face the sky. “Can you _feel_ the life here? The Force guides us, I know we will find the trail of the Jedhans here.”

                Baze glanced uneasily at a pair of stormtroopers patrolling the other side of the street. “Well, let’s hope we’re the first to find it,” he growled.

                Jyn nudged Rhinzi along by the elbow, leading him as Baze appeared to lead Chirrut. Cassian and Bodhi had peeled off in the direction of the city’s market, and now Jyn noticed more and more ostentatious outfits and bright robes in the streets they followed. Some were dimly familiar from Jedha: tall, boxy, tent-like structures in reds and blues, figures with polished, rounded hats and layered clothing. Ithorians towered above most of them, weaving sedately between the clusters of pilgrims without even a hint of resignation showing at the number of tourists.

                The living, woven structures on each side of the street began to thin out as flowering shrubs and different species of tree took prominence. Soon they approached an arch of threaded tree trunks draped with vines. Robed Ithorians gathered under the trees, nodding and clasping their hands at pilgrims who came and went from the sacred gardens. Jyn’s eyes were already beyond them, however, scanning the rising ground that took winding paths away from them through rockeries and streams. The ground was built up from crumbling slabs of stone; at the top of the artificial horizon an open temple simultaneously looked down on the city and out over the air beyond. Between the pillars and plants that melded together to form the structure, Jyn caught a glimpse of dark mountains rising beyond and below them.

                The way to Raddus’ contact was to be found within the gardens, from information held by an Ithorian who handed out flowers at the temple. Despite the urgency of the mission, none of their group could rush through the grounds; Chirrut perhaps really did need Baze’s arm, as he turned his head this way and that, stumbling as though drunk on the sensations around him. Jyn supported Rhinzi’s slow step with one arm, but took the opportunity to trail the hand of her other limb in the cool, trickling water that flowed down rocks on one side of the path. She closed her eyes, feeling the current beat gently on her fingers and thinking of the warm, muddy pool she’d washed her face in after a firefight on Mandalor. The system’s sun broke through the low cloud and warmed her face, and she remembered lying back on the grass on Anantapar, enjoying the calm before the storm.

                Trying not to sigh when she opened her eyes to leave the moment behind, Jyn told herself not to get attached to the intoxicating ambiance of the place. She’d never had the opportunity to linger on a planet like this before, but then opportunities to linger had been rare enough that she’d made what she could of them. Her life wasn’t so different now: she was still on a mission, still on the move, and Ithor was just another pit-stop on the way to the next mission.

                It was difficult to convince herself of this continuity when she caught sight of their destination, however. The elderly Ithorian had greying, puckered skin like bark. He basked in the shade of the temple, using his long digits to stir the water in a bowl full of flowers placed on the trellis table beside him. If not for that movement he might have been asleep, and he barely opened his eyes when Chirrut and Baze came to admire his wares.

                Jyn bowed her head as she joined them. “I’ve never seen Mon Cala lilies grow so well off-planet,” she told the Ithorian.

                The result was remarkable, and Jyn gritted her teeth and hoped that no stormtroopers had decided to take a turn about the temple at that moment. The Ithorian’s eyelids opened wide, and his neck-mouths gaped, letting out a low creak of surprise. He stopped stirring the flowers and raised dripping hands to his forehead, “indeed!” He exclaimed, one hand rummaging in a pouch at his belt. “We made sure their roots were able to dive deep,” almost as an afterthought, he gave the reply that Raddus had told them to expect.

                Jyn was glad he couldn’t see the sour expression she wore behind her robes. She saw Baze glance around warily and trusted that he would alert her if any troopers caught sight of them.

                The Ithorian held out a large, rubbery pink bloom to her. The petals in the centre curved up to touch their tips together, but as Jyn bowed over to accept it, she saw the dark edge of a datastick hidden at its core. She thanked the Ithorian, and stepped back as Baze, Chirrut and Rhinzi all exchanged bows with him.

                Travelling back through the gardens was even more difficult than arriving at the temple had been. Jyn felt jittery with the datastick cradled in the flower in her palms; its hard metal seemed conspicuous in the leafy setting, and the knowledge that it was there seemed to Jyn to broadcast itself beyond her carefully slow step and trembling hands. Eventually, however, her dragging feet followed those of the guardians and Rhinzi under the entrance arch again, and Jyn used the busy streets to hide her retrieval of the datastick. With it tucked away inside her clothes, under her robe, she felt more relaxed, although she still wanted to walk faster, to get to the spaceport hostel as quickly as possible. Instead, she held the flower before her and bowed her head, focussing on Baze’s heels and trusting again that he was able to keep a better eye on stormtrooper patrols than she could from beneath her hood.

                Her breath stopped when they came to a sudden halt a street or two away from the hostel. “Officers,” Baze mumbled.

                Jyn released one hand from the flower, squeezing Rhinzi’s elbow and moving closer to him. He would hopefully take it as a reassuring gesture, but she meant it to be as much a threat as a comfort.

                “Are those Jedhan robes?” A stormtrooper’s voice buzzed.

                Jyn allowed herself a glance upwards; the trooper held his helmeted head to one side quizzically, a holopad in his hand displaying generic Guardians’ outfits.

                She couldn’t see any more than Baze and Chirrut’s backs, and Baze shifted awkwardly, turning his head to Chirrut for a moment. “Ah, these?” he stumbled.

                Chirrut leaned close to Baze as Jyn held her breath. Rhinzi whimpered as her thumb dug into his thin skin, and she made herself loosen her grip a fraction.

                “We got these on Jedha, yes,” Chirrut said smoothly, his voice the voice of a salesman; the voice that had called to Jyn through the crowds in NiJedha market. “We’ve been to many planets, but these robes are the first we got on our travels.”

                “You’re worshippers of the Force?” the trooper sounded confused by the question, but something on his holopad must have prompted him to ask it.

                “Call it what you like,” Chirrut’s laugh sounded almost genuine, but Jyn had heard the real thing often enough that she wasn’t fooled. “We seek out spiritual experiences — or rather, they seek us out!”

                “Where have you come from? What planet were you born on?” the trooper demanded, sounding more certain of these questions.

                “Ah, me, I’m from Tatooine, and so’s my friend here. Those two are from Jakku.”

                Jyn bobbed her head again, mimicking Rhinzi’s deferential motion.

                “Ugh, I can see how you’d need spiritual experiences if you grew up there,” the second stormtrooper spoke. Her voice was met with a stern click from the first trooper’s comm, and she stepped back to attention, leaving the senior trooper to turn back to Baze.

                “Which ship brought you here, when?”

                “We arrived today. On the shuttle _Io_ ,” Baze finally found his voice again.

                The trooper consulted something on his holopad, then nodded at them. “I see. Those records check out. You might find that Jedhan robes are no longer suitable travelling clothes: that was a planet full of terrorists and criminals, and the Empire will reward anyone with information on surviving natives.”

                Chirrut bowed low, bringing Baze with him. “Thank you for the information, officer, we will take that into consideration on future journeys.”

                “On your way, then,” the trooper ordered, his blank mask fixing on each of them as they passed. In a low voice, he turned to mutter to his colleague: “bloody spacewind-dragged-in tourists…”

                Jyn didn’t release Rhinzi’s arm until they stood in the lobby of the hostel, and she got the distinct impression that it was Chirrut who led Baze there rather than vice versa. They rode the smooth turbolift to the floor their rooms were on, and Jyn held the door as they all filed into the double room she supposed she’d be sharing with Rhinzi.

                Baze sat down heavily on one of the cots, and Rhinzi perched on the edge of the other. She pulled the veil down from her face and dropped the flower that had concealed the datastick on a battered item of furniture.

                “Great, now they’ve got a reason to recognise our ship if we have to leave in a hurry,” Jyn muttered, pacing between the two cots.

                “They accepted the manifest,” Chirrut said diplomatically.

                She stopped to examine him and Baze. Both looked troubled and a little pale with shock; no one had thought to challenge Chirrut’s assertion that their own robes would suffice for their alternative identities.

                “I can’t even imagine wearing anything other than these old rags now,” Baze shook his head, looking up at his partner. Chirrut sensed his gaze and stood close by him, squeezing his shoulder gently.

                “And we won’t have to. We won’t be here for long, and when we’re on the move again it will be to meet up with the remainder of our people.”

                Jyn’s frustration lost some of its edge as she looked from them to Rhinzi: figures weighed down by grief and uncertainty, the fragments of a civilisation more ancient than the Jedi themselves. She sighed and took a seat on the same cot as Rhinzi, lying back with a sigh. The sun was leaving the sky outside the hostel, but none of them moved to activate a light. The silence grew heavy with the sickly smell of the crushed, wilting flowers that still adorned each of their heads, and beyond the room the city murmured without a lull.

                Eventually, Jyn heard two pairs of footsteps in the corridor outside, followed by a knock on the door next to the room they were in. By the time there was an ensuing tap outside her room, Jyn was ready to palm the opening switch.

                She stood aside to let Cassian and Bodhi in, waiting as Cassian paused, blinking at her. A strange expression crept over his face as he studied whatever he saw there, but then he hiked his satchel on his shoulder and looked down, walking past her with a muttered greeting. Bodhi’s entrance was less complex: a breezy hello and he strode into the room.

                “Nice garlands,” Bodhi observed, his tone too light to contain any sarcasm.

                Jyn reached up to remove the flowers, grimacing as petals began to fall away from them; there were already clumps of them on the bed where she’d lain back before their arrival.

                Bodhi and Cassian had gone to the market to gather information on Ithorian attitudes to the Rebellion and the Empire, all under the guise of being traders who wanted to start exporting the Ithorians’ native edible fungi. All they had to show for hours of haggling with local traders was a sack full of blue and pink mushrooms and the impression that there were an awful lot of bored stormtroopers crawling over the city. The locals had proved cagey on any topic other than the price of their wares.

Glad to have something concrete to pursue, Cassian grabbed the datastick Jyn offered with a sigh of relief and immediately set about decrypting the information on his datapad, whilst Bodhi heard of their encounter with the troopers from Baze and Chirrut.

                The instructions for reaching Raddus’ contact came with their own problems; they were to meet a guide in the sacred gardens, at a particular tree, at a particular hour of night. This guide would lead them to a hermit who was somehow the most overtly sympathetic Ithorian on the planet when it came to the Rebellion. Yet the city was under Imperial curfew; getting from the hostel to the gardens would involve dodging a number of patrols.

                In the meantime, they had a few hours to spare, and all were in need of a meal. Leading the way and checking that no one would see the six of them emerge from her double room, Jyn headed for the hostel’s attached cantina. Cassian and Bodhi peeled away from the pilgrims again, taking a booth that allowed them to sit with their backs to Jyn, Baze, Chirrut and Rhinzi. They were brought synthesised nutrient bars and Jyn stifled a groan at the pilgrims’ dedication to harming no life; at least the traders received meals made from the planet’s farmed flora. Bodhi tried to murmur over his shoulder that they weren’t missing much, but Jyn’s growling stomach begged to differ.

                She saw Baze jealously eye the floral ales that were served to Bodhi and Cassian, swilling her own nectar-sweetened water with resignation. The hours crawled by, but eventually they were gathered in one of the shared rooms again, grateful for the thick layer of fog that had overtaken the streets below them. As they ran over the plan again, Rhinzi finally spoke up: “Do I have to go? It’s been a very long day already. My legs ache, I don’t like this damp night.”

                Cassian’s face said a good much beyond _I told you so_ , but relief seemed to be the primary emotion underlying his clenched jaw. “That’s okay,” he managed gently. “One of us will stay here with you.”

                “Me,” Bodhi blurted out before the rest of them had finished exchanging questing glances. “If we have to fly out of here in a hurry I want to be fresh. And hiding from stormtroopers in dark alleys doesn’t really appeal. Besides, it’s _amazing_ to not have to wear that breathing apparatus after a day with it strapped to my face.” He rubbed his cheeks for emphasis; the red marks left by the mask’s straps were fading but still evident.

                Cassian nodded and produced a long, vicious-looking vibroblade from one of his boots. “Take this. You should be fine if you stick to the room, but we may need to rendezvous at the shuttle.”

                Bodhi grimaced and took the knife gingerly. “Um. Thanks. Well, let’s try to avoid that situation, shall we?”

                Cassian’s sidelong look slid into a fond smirk before he could make the exasperation convincing. “Of course, Bodhi. Comm us if you’re in trouble.”

                “Uh, yeah. You too,” Bodhi nodded, following them to the door as they filed out. “May the Force be with you,” he let the words trail after them.

                Jyn pulled her hood and veil up over her face again and the four of them slipped through the shadows of the empty hostel lobby. Cassian made short work of the door lock and then the cold clouds that had dropped into the city’s streets enveloped them. Stormtrooper boots clicked on the hard pavements, but their own steps were light enough to guide them silently past the patrols. The echoes from the patrols were unnerving, but even the brighter material of Jyn’s robes was swallowed up by lilac mist and the deep blue darkness beyond it.

                The sacred gardens were even more tantalising than they had been during the day. She held her breath as her steps crunched lightly on the gravel paths, but the muted trickle of streams covered the sound. Sparkling beads of spider-webs hung between the silhouettes of foliage and muskier scents filled the air now; some flowers seemed to glow gently in the gloom. It was impossible to distinguish the form of an Ithorian from the plant-life around them, but then something shifted by the squat trunk of a lone tree and Jyn saw their guide.

                She was younger than the Ithorian who had given her the datastick earlier, and wore her own version of pilgrims’ robes: her dark hood looked like moss hanging around her great grey head. She greeted them wordlessly with open arms and then turned and paced to another tree; at this one, she stroked the bark in a particular place, and part of the tree trunk flickered in the dim light.

                Jyn had to blink once or twice to be sure of what she saw: a holo had covered what now seemed to be a natural split in the tree’s trunk, and inside the trunk was the pod of a turbolift. There was nothing above the tree’s dense foliage, so Jyn had to assume they were going down — into the depths of the floating city, perhaps, or even to the planet’s surface.

                Chirrut’s gasp and the deep bow he gave their guide implied an expectation of the latter.

                Once they were all in the turbolift, their guide introduced herself as Booruma, a priestess of the temple. “We will trek for several kilometres across the surface: please do not touch the plants. The johinuu do not grow near the path that we take, but their roots travel far. Do not stumble, and do not trip.”

                The surface seemed to be pitch black when they emerged, but gradually Jyn’s eyes adjusted. Trees towered above them, mossy and draped with vines; differences in the colour of foliage were impossible to pick out, but patches of glowing fungi or flowers lit up groves to either side of the narrow path that Booruma picked out. The ground was simultaneously wet and rocky, uneven with wily roots and tendrils.

                Chirrut reached out willingly for Baze’s grip, and the two of them followed Booruma’s confident step gamely.

                Jyn tugged her robe away from the cloying earth, tying its trailing ends in a knot at her knees. She took small steps, concentrating hard enough that she soon saw shapes in the darkness. A hollow thud from a heavy footfall behind her alerted Jyn to Cassian’s faltering progress, and she was relieved not to have to justify reaching out to him for her own sake. She sent an arm out to offer support and he took her hand silently. Even when the path was only narrow enough for them to walk in single file, she was grateful for the warmth of his grip, for the sense that the person on the other end of that warmth would not let her fall if she stumbled.

                She didn’t notice any change in their surroundings as they plodded through the gloom, but the sounds of the jungle began to stand out: rustles and scuttles and the odd screech that made her flinch right down to her fingers despite herself. Slowly, however, the path widened and smoothed out, although neither Jyn nor Cassian loosened their hold as they came to walk side by side a few paces behind Chirrut and Baze.

                The path ended in a clearing with a woven structure at its centre. The building looked much like those on the floating city, but more ancient and natural: mosses and lichens covered the silver bark of the tree, and clusters of pink and blue fungi grew on and around it. It was larger and lower than many of the buildings they’d seen: one floor, just tall enough for an Ithorian to enter, with a floor space far larger than one hermit could need.

                Despite the rustic appearance, Jyn smiled with grim satisfaction to notice a cluster of well-disguised black antennae rise from the structure, and on a scan of the clearing she identified the likely location of defensive shield generators.

                A glance exchanged with Cassian confirmed that he saw it too, and then their contact appeared in the entrance to the woven building. She couldn’t tell who let go of the other’s hand first, and she was glad of that, as well as the new arrival taking her mind off the cold night air on her palm.

                “Welcome, rebels,” the elderly female’s voice resonated around the clearing. “What news from Admiral Raddus and the fleet?”

                Chirrut bowed to her and turned expectantly in the direction of Jyn and Cassian. With a shrug at Cassian’s nod of encouragement, Jyn stepped forward. “Raddus sends his greetings. The fleet is spread across the galaxy trying to strike what significant blows it can. He regrets not being able to send one of his crew with us as he usually would.”

                “I have heard tell of momentous events,” the Ithorian’s creaking voice was leading as she raised her huge grey head and narrowed her eyes. Jyn suppressed a scoff, thinking of the antenna array at the back of the building. You could ‘hear tell’ of a lot with a set up like that.

                “Yes; the Empire built a superweapon. And we destroyed it. The Rebellion has the upper hand now.”

                Cassian came to stand by her side again, his expression urgent. “They won’t underestimate us again, but we have shown that there is a force who will stand up to them in the galaxy. Now is the time for other free-thinking worlds to unite with us, to keep the Empire on the backfoot and to build on our victory.”

                Their contact made a deep groan somewhere in her throat, bobbing her head in agreement. “Yes. Ithor would be better served as a member of the Rebellion. It may be time for Ithor to re-evaluate its independence.”

                Jyn folded her arms, her neck craned to look up at the Ithorian’s eyes — eyes that remained conspicuously fixed on something, or nothing, beyond Jyn’s head. “Can you even claim independence when there’s a star destroyer orbiting your planet and a garrison of troopers going stir crazy on your streets? It’s only a matter of time before someone loses patience here.”

                The Ithorian’s eyelids crinkled as she shut them and nodded again. “I know this. We did not bring the garrison on ourselves this time, but enough people remember the Empire’s past threats.”

                Cassian gave Jyn another pointed look, and she half turned to see Baze and Chirrut’s expectant faces. “And … do you know what did bring the garrison here this time?”

                At this, their contact shifted, finally lowering her head to examine Jyn. She leaned on a sturdy wooden stick, her twig-like fingers wrapped around the top so that one couldn’t tell where she ended and her prop began. After a moment silently surveying Jyn, Cassian and the two guardians, she made another creaking sound in her large neck and gestured to Booruma. “We will have ln’irr tea in the central chamber. I have much to discuss with our guests.”


	19. Chapter 19

Mowna Naduun had been in contact with the Rebellion since her littermate had been forced to flee the planet. She had been an Oracle for many more years than she had been Raddus’ contact, and knew she was lucky to have been allowed to keep this role after Momaw Nadon had handed over their planet’s agricultural secrets to the Empire.

                Momaw had saved the sentient Cathor Forest from a rain of laser fire from space, and he had saved their cities from destruction, from becoming fireballs that plummeted down into the jungles they all strove to keep pristine. His compatriots had refused to fight the Empire, and yet they had no way of defending themselves; they took Momaw’s act to be one of high treason, that of selling state secrets to the enemy. Momaw had been forced to accept a ride off-world from the last Imperial shuttle to leave.

                Since then, Mowna had decided to use her isolation to her advantage, using her priestesses to gather information from the surface and to spread good news of the Rebellion whenever Mowna’s data array picked it up. As the years had passed following Momaw’s exile, trust in her had regrown, and she had used the faith of the people to add to the quiet, insistent trickle of pro-Rebel Alliance information circulating.

                Recently, she told the crew members of _Rogue One_ , her littermate himself had been in touch with her. He had met an aging Dresselian in the dank, backworld cantina he was now forced to call home. The Dresselian had mentioned a ship full of refugees that would be leaving Coruscant: lovers of nature and peace, travellers and families and artists and even the odd defector who could not stand to work for the people who had destroyed their homeworlds. They wanted Ithor’s help in finding a new home; apparently, the organiser of this desperate group had visited the jungle planet once before and nurtured fond memories of it.

                Fearing that the Imperials would manage to track them — they were hoping to flee from Coruscant, no less — Mowna had told Momaw to send them to Lothal, where Old Jho would give them what information Mowna could gather in the meantime. She had intended to compile a list of suitable worlds for Alderaanians and Jedhans to share, but she had found only one that fitted the demands of secrecy, safety and spiritual history. Information on how to reach it had been relayed to the refugees via the Dresselian and Old Jho.

                “So neither of your people met with the ship’s captain?” Jyn turned a small wooden cup of sweet floral tea in her hands.

                Mowna’s head bobbed affirmation. “Only the Dresselian; I understand that Lothal would have been dangerous. They would likely have been intercepted there. But Jho is even more reliable than my brother, he was the best one for the hand-over of information.”

                “It doesn’t seem fair that the Imperials have descended on Ithor anyway,” Baze said, daintily lifting his cup in two large hands.

                The elusive nature of the ship they were tracking was starting to trouble Jyn. She shook her head at the table. “I don’t like it. What if this is all a trap? We’re following the word of an Imperial, and the information you’ve received could have been planted. The Imps could be acting stupid to drive us on. Would they have an interest in the planet you researched? Could they be hoping we’ll lead them there?”

                “Rhinzi’s defection is genuine,” Chirrut sighed.

                “And I trust Momaw to know the difference between information that is genuine and fake,” Mowna added. “The Imperials are here because they know intimidation has worked before. I’m sure they’re also hassling my brother and Old Jho and any other Ithorians they find travelling the galaxy.”

                Jyn still wasn’t convinced and she let it show on her face. She hoped to find similar scepticism from Cassian, but he just frowned at his untouched tea, apparently lost in some galling thought of his own.

                “You should find them at their destination by now, at any rate,” Mowna’s voice did not carry emotion in the same way as a human voice, but she placed a holopad on the table in a placatory gesture. “This is Ossus,” she gestured at the blue orb now circling above them.

                Chirrut gasped and fumbled across the table to find Baze’s hand. Baze raised his eyebrows and finally put his tea down. “ _The_ Ossus? I thought it was lost?”

                Mowna’s eyes closed in satisfaction as she emitted another throaty creak. “To many, it is. There are only ruins there now, I believe, but it is hard to get to and impossible to find if you don’t know what you’re looking for. It lies beyond the Oseon asteroids; folk tales on Oseon will tell you that it _is_ the asteroid field, but that is because no one knows how to navigate the field anymore.”

                “That’s because it _is_ impossible,” Cassian finally leaned forwards, his fingers interlaced on the table in front of him, and his gaze interested, but sceptical. “The magnetic interference is too much for a ship’s sensors.”

                Chirrut looked to be in a state of utter bliss; he grinned across at all of them. “The Force has always guided those whose path is clear to them.”

                Cassian looked at him with an expression of open-mouthed incredulity. There was no derision about it, in fact he always seemed to be somewhat in awe of Chirrut, but his doubt was also clear. “Nothing personal, but I don’t think Bodhi will let you pilot the ship through the Oseon asteroid field, Chirrut.”

                Mowna made a sound that might have been her species’ equivalent of laughter. She pushed a datastick across the table to Cassian. “The Force _will_ guide your pilot regardless. This contains all the information in our archives about the asteroid field and the planet. It is all the information that I gave to Jho to pass on. So if it worked for the refugees, it will work for you.”

                _And if it didn’t, at least the debris will warn us to turn back_ , Jyn thought ruefully.

                Cassian turned the datastick over in his fingers, then glanced up at the others. The line between his brows was a deep, straight crease. “What about Ithor?”

                “What about my planet, Captain?” Mowna blinked steadily at him.

                He tilted his head, now apparently avoiding eye contact with the others. Jyn found herself tensing; she wasn’t sure why, but something about his manner since Mowna had spoken of her role as Rebellion propagandist made her uneasy.

                “How ready do you think your people are to join the Alliance?”

                “Our council chambers are more sympathetic than they have been in some time, I will grant. They may need some persuasion following this new occupation, though. Action does not come easily to most Ithorians.”

                Cassian smiled without amusement, and then spoke some words in Ithorese.

                Mowna bowed her head and replied in her own language.

                He nodded and rapped the back of one set of knuckles on the table.

                “Why don’t you all stay here until dawn? Curfew ends before the sacred gardens open; Booruma will show you a quiet exit from the gardens, but you won’t be questioned by stormtroopers as you return to the hostel.”

                Chirrut had been studying Cassian with an unreadable expression, but his smile reappeared at Mowna’s suggestion. “May we? I will never visit a world like this one again. It would be an honour to spend a night in the jungle.”

                “I have bunks for those who would prefer to sleep, of course, but Booruma can take you along the paths we know are safe.”

                Baze and Chirrut followed the priestess out of the woven hallways with enthusiasm, but despite her curiosity, Jyn lingered with Cassian at Mowna’s table. Her large eyes were heavily hooded as she regarded them, but she did not speak other than to offer to show them to sleeping areas.

                The cots were laid with dry, fragrant rushes and linen cloth, and each one was divided from those on either side by woven partitions; around the circumference of the building a dozen or so cots fanned out against the mud-plastered exterior walls. Mowna introduced them to the layout of the building and then left them to choose their sleeping area.

                Jyn was not tired, however. She glared at Cassian in the low light provided by bioluminescent flora. He appeared not to notice, turning the datastick Mowna had given him over in his hands thoughtfully.

                “We should probably comm Bodhi; let him know we won’t be back until the morning,” he said distractedly.

                Jyn took it as an invitation, nonetheless. “What did you say to her in there?”

                He looked up, his expression soft, but his eyes dark and ambivalent in the gloom. “A saying I learned when I was last here.”

                She waited, determined that he wouldn’t make her ask.

                Eventually, Cassian did relent and repeated the phrase. “It means ‘the johinuu bides its time, hungry; the foolish hunter provokes it by taking it for firewood.’ It doesn’t make much sense in modern Ithorian culture, but I think the idea is still clear.”

                Jyn folded her arms. “I’m sure Mowna will have them clamouring to join the Alliance in no time.”

                He regarded her carefully, his guarded body language in itself revealing far more than he could have known. Jyn’s own stance was a mirror of it. She jutted her chin as though ready for a blow.

                “I might be of more use here.” The admission was quiet, as gentle as he could make it.

                She shook her head, but said nothing. Nothing was all she could manage with the formless roaring of her blood in her ears; with the invisible waves of something buffeting her, making her chest tighten and her throat close. Fear had the shapes of the roots that had snaked their way across the path here; shapes that formed and reformed behind her eyelids when she closed them; twisting, half-seen, treacherous roots reaching for her. She made herself draw a shaky breath: “no.”

                He gave an exaggerated, exasperated shrug, and ran a hand through his hair. An expression escaped his defences: fear glinted in his own eyes as he moved his head away from her, and his mouth was framed by a dimple as his lips twitched, looking for a reply.

                Jyn just blinked, feeling stupid and wretched, but she was too paralysed by an old panic to speak further. The feeling was so sickeningly familiar, but she’d thought she’d defeated it. She’d thought Liana Hallik had finally cut the remnants of that feeling out with hot iron, discarding useless neediness as the surface of Corulag receded below the speeding prison ship. She’d rationalised the attack in the cell on Yavin 4 as a justifiable reaction to having been locked up, but now she could tell it had been the same thing. Always the same thing: a blaster and a knife in her hands and the galaxy recoiling from her, receding from her touch as the darkness of the cave on Lah’mu came for her again.

…

He remembered the surprise of disappointment when he’d found her on Jedha. She’d been like the husk of herself, glassy-eyed and pale, little more than a rag doll leaning her weight on him as he’d fought to escape the collapsing catacombs. The trace of that expression on her face now, a bewildered, blank _hurt_ , that this time he was responsible for, made it harder to think clearly about what he’d hoped to say.

                The admission he’d made was as much to himself as to her. He’d been on Ithor with Draven years before, monitoring the situation when the Empire had held the planet to ransom for its technology. Maybe it was just nostalgia, a misleading feeling awoken by returning to the site of an old mission, a return that he wouldn’t normally get to make. Or it was a desperate grasp for something that would deflect his doubt and the fears about the strange new galaxy he found himself in since surviving Scarif.

                He’d been able to cling to pragmatic arguments in his work for Draven up until recently. The Rebellion came before all else, and he told himself that Ithor would be of more use to the Rebellion than a few hundred refugees who were intent on fleeing to a remote backwater. But it would also be an escape for him; he’d be able to leave behind the doubts he had about his ability to work with the team, and he’d have to discard all the questions that just being around Jyn brought on. But had it even been a serious suggestion, that he might stay on Ithor alone, or had some part of him just wanted to know what her reaction would be?

                Guilt turned something in his chest. He sighed in exasperation at himself and looked back at her, managing half a step towards her, an apology almost on his lips. “No. No, it was just a passing…” he shook his head, floundering in the unfamiliar doubt that now seemed to coat every decision.

                She studied him cautiously, her eyes moving over his expression reluctantly, as though she wished she hadn’t responded as she had done to the words he wished he hadn’t spoken. “You’re right.” The initial utterance was like ice on his skin, before she clarified: “we should contact Bodhi.”

                He released the horrified breath he’d drawn, thinking for a moment that he’d got what he’d been testing to see whether he deserved; whether she’d actually pushed right back on his suggestion, pushed him to stand by the hard-headed choices that used to come so easily. After a pause that would have got him killed a hundred times over as a spy, he rummaged for the commlink and checked that it was tuned to the longwave frequency they’d selected.

                “Bodhi?” He murmured.

                The response came quickly. Bodhi’s voice was tense, but not unusually so.

                “We’ll be on the surface until dawn. No need to leave the hostel; just get some sleep.”

                The pilot’s sigh fizzed and popped through the comm. “Sounds great, assuming our old buddy here stops praying at some point… Night, Cassian.”

                Another moment where he had to pause, to figure out how to respond to the warmth that those simple words emitted. “Good night, Bodhi.”

                Jyn had already moved into the shadows. She nodded once as she disappeared behind the woven screen and he stood listening to the sounds of her boots coming off, of the rushes on the cot rustling as she settled on them. Slowly, he scuffed his own feet towards the nearest cot and collapsed heavily on the low structure. At least he still had the ability to sleep in any unfamiliar spot, and not even the strange non-silence of the deep Ithorian jungle could interfere with that.

…

She counted the sources of bioluminescence, lying flat on her back, staring at the soft lights until she had to blink spots away from her vision. The numbers kept drifting away from her somewhere before she got to fifty; her thoughts slewed to her left, past the woven screen, stumbling uncontrolled over the fear she’d felt when Cassian had suggested that he might stay behind on Ithor.

                Eventually, her concentration tired of hauling her mind back to the pin-pricks of glowing petals, and she found herself reflecting on what he’d said. Was he right? Did the Rebellion need Ithor more than anything right now? Did Ithor need the Rebellion?

                It mustn’t have been this thought that had really troubled her: stubbornly, the only response to it that she found was that if that were the case then they’d all have to stay. All or none.

                Even now, she couldn’t really think about what she’d felt when she’d realised Saw wasn’t coming back. She’d peered into the depths of that hole on Jedha and it hadn’t helped one bit. And now he was dead, and he’d died disappointed in her, whilst she sobbed and shook on her knees in the dust. It was easier to think about Lah’mu: the memory of her mother’s death now so worn with replaying in her mind — like a corrupted holovid — that she didn’t even feel much of anything when she thought of it. With a clinical precision, she remembered a version of that day, telling herself of the grief as her mother’s body fell, of the temptation to run out and hold on to her father, of how anger had risen when she’d looked across at the man in white before slinking away into the grass. Probably, she’d really felt little other than the cold of shock and the dew on her knees and hands.

                Detecting the moment that her father had left her was harder; it had been a gradual hardening of the disappointment she’d felt when he never came for her in the cave. A steady drip, drip; the calcification taking place through each new thing she learnt of the Empire, of those oppressors with whom her father had left willingly. And, after all, the galaxy had returned him to her, only for his second departure to happen under the disorienting cover of rain and smoke and night and the cloying smell of ozone and burnt flesh.

                But it had been Saw who had really taught her to batten down the hatches and keep the galaxy at a distance. It had hurt, dimly, when other Partisans didn’t return from a mission, but it hadn’t stopped her from sharing a drink with those who did come back, or from bargaining with Maia; her synthskin gloves were hers if Maia died first, or Jyn’s new plasteel-capped boots would be Maia’s if Jyn died first. But after Saw had left — although teams, allies, people who thought of her as a friend, all were still necessary — after Saw, Jyn kept her bottle of Rylothian gin to herself and drank it in her private quarters; she bargained nothing personal and took no interest in anyone else’s personal items or attributes.

                Okay — if the odd sweet smile, or the right touch or words at the right time got someone past Jyn’s locked door, then she was only human. She hadn’t naturally been mistrustful; dreams occasionally reminded her of the strange wonderland of a childhood in which she’d befriended every alien species she’d encountered, leading new classmates and playmates on adventures within days of arriving at a new school. But letting those sweet, friendly beings in never ended well; she’d learnt quickly that she couldn’t watch them die for her, so she drove them far away instead. Even when she wasn’t sure she wanted it, they always left. When she demanded it from them there was no room for argument.

                What she was realising, her eyes aching as she stared into the miniature star system of glowing flowers above her, was that although the result of this fear was the same — air fleeing from her lips even as she tried to draw it in; chest painful and stuck with inertia; the sensation of blood pulsing hard in her temples — it didn’t seem to come from the same place after all. Why shouldn’t Cassian choose to return to the recruitment work he’d always known? She’d only known him for a few weeks; no more than any of the other _Rogue One_ crew, not really; the certainty of the life he’d faced in the Rebellion galled her, and she told herself she didn’t understand why he was tagging along with them if he missed that so much.

                But now, when she tried to pursue _that_ line of thought: goosebumps in uneven patches on her skin, the realisation that she’d drawn a breath in and forgotten to let go of it, her hands suddenly feeling warm where they rested at her hips.

                She moved them to her sides and bunched fists in the linens. Exhaling slowly, she started trying to count the night-blooming flora once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically, thank the stars for Wookieepedia. My Ithor is a bit of a mix of the canon and the legendary, but I was super happy to see Momaw Nadon's story is still essentially canon :D


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, last itty bit of emotional angst for now, then I promise things will Happen again.

Why was he still there? Time and again his mind had circled around, making him watch Jyn’s grip loosen on the datastack, the flare of blaster fire causing him to flinch just when he wanted to know with certainty whether she’d been hit. But then she was falling, fast, close by him, but not so close that he could reach her.

                He’d look up: Kaytu should have been there, jostling him awake, pulling him from whatever quagmire his subconscious had stranded him in. Those impassive white bulbs and the hum of his servomotors familiar, soothing, real. Anchoring him to consciousness.

                But Kay couldn’t come this time, and he was stuck in this cruel timeloop, where they climbed and he watched her fall, again and again. Sometimes he saw her eyes as she fell: they were hard and accusatory, and he knew he should have let go to follow her, but his hands wouldn’t loosen the hold he had on the stacks. He’d shout out, trying to let her know he wanted to follow, to follow her wherever she led him, but he wasn’t sure whether she heard or understood.

                He was dimly aware that it was a dream, but that knowledge didn’t seem to help him each time the air moved aside to let Jyn’s body fall past him. Was this helplessness what she’d felt when he’d been the one to fall from the stack?

                Eventually, with a determined tug, two datatapes clicked from their slots; he pressed his boots against the stack and this time as blaster fire sounded out and he yelled for Jyn, he was able to pull away from the structure, cold air rushing against his shirt as he fell backwards, looking up into the vexed eyes of Orson Krennic. He threw an arm out and tried to twist in mid-air to see her, but she wasn’t there anymore, and he was falling alone, his body suddenly curling in on a pain in his side, the unforgiving grille of a maintenance deck rushing up from below to offer a landing he didn’t want to remember…

…

He plunged back into consciousness with a hoarse gasp, sitting up too fast, his hands flailing for the security of a weapon.

                A steady, serious gaze watched him from the gloom beside his bed; the hand Jyn must have used to shake him awake retreated to fold under her other arm again. Her expression belied an understanding, but — or rather, perhaps, because of this — she said nothing.

                He must have cried out, otherwise she wouldn’t have been disturbed. In the dream it had been her name, and the thought that he might have called after her aloud made him feel like his insides had been suddenly rearranged. He couldn’t quite see the detail of her guarded expression in the darkness, but he was grateful that she said nothing about whatever she might have heard.

                Cassian didn’t dream often, or didn’t remember it if he did; he was usually so tired, or so on edge, that the sleep was too deep or too light for his subconscious to trouble him. Travelling to missions had been the only time when they’d really bothered him; he was usually well-rested from base, but relaxed enough in his own ship, settled in hyperspace on the way to his destination. It was then that faces he’d thought he’d long forgotten swirled up from the past to interrogate him over previous actions — and Kay had grown quick to recognise the symptoms as Cassian slept, monitoring heart rate, breathing, whatever else the droid could get a reading on, and efficiently pulling him from the nightmares.

                In Ithor’s balmy night, in the midst of ancient jungle, the loss of Kaytu reasserted itself, sending grasping tendrils of loneliness over him.

                Maybe seeing something of this, Jyn finally spoke: “I don’t know about you, but I could do with some fresh air.”

                “Sounds good,” he mumbled, swinging his feet off the cot and fumbling his toes into his boots. He followed as Jyn walked back around the circular corridor, quietly passing by the foot of Baze’s sleeping form.

                Chirrut’s presence greeted them at the front entrance of the building; the guardian sat with his back to the woven wall, his milky eyes roving over the glittering shield that Mowna had activated around the clearing. Jyn plonked herself next to him, and Cassian joined them gingerly on the other side of the entrance.

                The night was still deep; he couldn’t have slept for more than an hour or two. The shield glowed a dusky pink over the jungle’s grey-green depths, and if he craned his neck, he could just about spot the hazy black of the night sky, far beyond the treetops.

                “Where the Force is strong, we can see deep into ourselves,” Chirrut said quietly, facing neither of them as he did so.

                Jyn’s hands fiddled with her neckline, and Cassian saw her draw out the crystal she wore there. He’d only seen it once before, when she’d flashed a fierce grin at him as _Rogue One_ had slipped unassumingly through Scarif’s shield-gate. It seemed to glow like the bioluminescent flora of the planet, its facets glinting as Jyn turned it around in her fingers. They traced each familiar, sharp edge, her thumb pad pricking habitually at its point, sliding down a face of the crystal that seemed to reveal some carved markings as she tilted it in the light cast by the shield.

                “What does it feel like?” she asked Chirrut, surprise at herself revealed in her voice. “The Force?”

                He smiled wanly, leaning his head back against the trunks behind him. “It feels _normal_. Perfectly natural.” He paused, frowning a little as though deciding whether to go on, but then he gave a small chuckle. “I was told that I was not Force-sensitive by so many, for so long, that it shocks me still, to find out that I had two senses confused. Back to front. As though I’d been walking on my hands for my whole life, because people told me that they were my feet.”

                “Didn’t the Jedi take Force-sensitive children for training?” Cassian murmured, eyeing Chirrut from the corner of his eye, but trying to make the question a gentle one.

                Chirrut’s smile spread deeper and broader for a moment. “They did. Though not often from NaJedha; we who had our Whills did not always want to accept the austerity of formal Jedi teaching.” He sighed. “I believe now that my parents, the temple elders, all those who saw a blind boy navigate the city without the usual aids — they chose to protect me from those who might take me away.”

                “They lied to you?” Jyn sounded wounded on his behalf, her grip on her crystal tightening.

                “No! No,” Chirrut laughed softly again. “They lied to themselves, perhaps. And I honed my hearing, and my reactions to what I heard, not knowing that I was guided by something far more powerful until that grenade on Scarif stripped away the façade I had helped to construct.”

                They sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments before Chirrut spoke again.

                “The Force is always there. Each life like a wave passing over me. But sometimes — here, those waves are stronger, warmer. Your crystal, Jyn, it makes you stand out like a beacon; a lighthouse in the ocean of other lives. And it is the same when I am near Luke Skywalker: _he_ might become a Jedi; his presence is brighter than kyber, and the Force is drawn to him; moving like whirlpools and eddies as it cleaves to him.”

                Cassian studied his own knees as Chirrut spoke. He’d had no experience of Jedi, or Force-worshippers of any kind, not growing up in the cold reaches of the Outer Rim. He’d had no reason to believe in any of those mysterious legends; but then again, he’d had no reason to disbelieve them. But that ambivalence could only stand when the Force was not a factor in his daily life, when he did not have to have conviction in ‘the Force’ to navigate them through a notorious asteroid field. He wanted to trust to Chirrut’s unwavering, optimistic certainty, but pinning his hopes down on this intangible thing was like grasping after a miselfish with numb hands on the ice of Fest’s wintry lakes.

                “Captain, I once told you that there is more than one sort of prison,” Chirrut turned his face towards the doorway, to where Cassian hunched on the other side of it. Beyond Chirrut, Jyn twitched, as though aware that she was now privy to a conversation she shouldn’t have been a part of.

                Cassian, for his part, stayed still; as though Chirrut’s unknowable, roving mind were a predatory animal, something whose attention he might avoid by remaining motionless and slowing his breathing. The comment had been made in a shared cell on the moon of Jedha, and Chirrut had followed it up with the suggestion that Cassian carried some sort of prison with him wherever he went; Baze had grunted a laugh lacking entirely in amusement, and Cassian had been distracted by the fact that this strange pair of dusty locals had somehow figured out his rank without being told.

                “As in the catacombs, you will find that you already carry the means of freeing yourself,” Chirrut continued, ignoring the way that his companions had both tensed with discomfort. “You have only to look beyond your cell, to remind yourself what escape will be worth to you. To remind yourself what might lie beyond it.”

                Cassian sighed and let his head thunk back against the living wall of Mowna’s house. Behind closed eyelids he saw himself at various points over the last weeks, gradually losing control over everything around, and apparently within him. When he tried to think of what life had been like even a month ago, the memories seemed murky, a swirl of disjointed sensations. More recently, the intensity of experience was almost suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides.

                “Chirrut, are you upset that you never got the chance to be a Jedi?” he thought the question might be brushed aside as an opportunistic attempt to change the subject, but it was more than that this time. He waited.

                The older man cocked his head to one side, his consciousness studying Cassian like a penetrating gaze. “No. I have lived my life as I would have wished. The Jedi were all killed; the Jedi did not know Baze Malbus.”

_As simple as that?_ Cassian nodded as though he understood. It hadn’t been a perfect comparison, but he wasn’t sure how to explain what the mission to retrieve the Death Star plans had woken in him; he wasn’t sure if it had had a similar effect on either of them, or on Bodhi, or Baze. Something had come loose from him, and it had left a void in the wake of Scarif, a need that couldn’t be filled, not by the trickle of adrenaline brought on in short bursts by storming prisons or lying to troopers.

                Chirrut’s eyes narrowed, and his brow creased, even though his lips curled in a curious smile. “Yes, Captain. Sometimes it’s quite simple. Quite a lot more simple than you realise.”

                Cassian examined Chirrut’s playful expression, wondering what he could be inferring. From the other side of Chirrut’s shoulders, Jyn leaned forward to peer at him in turn, pulling a dubious expression and shrugging minutely. Cassian looked back at the jungle beyond the shield, a warm smirk risen to his lips.

                Chirrut chuckled softly. “Good night, both of you. This jungle will not stop speaking to me first, so it is up to me to end the conversation.” He stood with the assistance of the woven branches of the building behind him, and nodded at both of them as he returned indoors.

                Jyn wore a small smile as she continued to fiddle with the crystal on her necklace. “How does anyone get so worldly-wise living on a single dustbowl for fifty years?”

                His corresponding smile spread easily. The galaxy had come to Chirrut; Chirrut hadn’t needed to go to the galaxy to learn about it. “You think that’s something to do with the Force as well?” he echoed her light tone.

                She snorted gently. “Can you imagine it, though? He and Baze grew up in a galaxy without war.”

                It was the kind of hypothetical that had made him roll his eyes when in the mouths of so many others. Usually an older generation, eager to keep their heads down, capitulate to whoever, behave in whatever way was required, just so long as they got to return to some half-imagined, rose-tinted time of ‘peace’. But he’d read Jyn’s file; he knew every planet Galen Erso had worked on; every planet that Lyra Erso had worked on; every brief spell in which their child had had to become acquainted with a new home, driven from the old one by the greedy reach of Separatists and Imperials alike. She was genuinely curious to know the answer to her question.

                “I can’t,” he admitted. “Not by looking backwards. But I have to hope that it might yet be possible in the future.”

                Jyn pulled a face and shook her head. “But can you picture a future like that? _Really_? You can tell yourself that it might be possible, but how can you imagine it? How can you know what something like that would even look like?”

                Cassian was not about to admit to her how close to the mark she was: after all, it hadn’t ever been a future he saw himself surviving to see. It was enough to hope that there were enough people who wanted to work towards the same end, that eventually, _someone_ would see the galaxy settle once more into openness, freedom, peace.

                He probed gingerly at an old memory; a sensation, more than anything. A small stone-built room warmed by a greasy, smoky fire that cracked and hissed as the odd flake of snow found its way down the chimney. Battered plast furniture covered in quilts and skins, and his father joking about something with his mother as they sat around a spread of salt meats and warm soup. Weirdly, the part of the memory that seemed most vivid was that his feet hadn’t been able to reach the floor from the bench he sat on. Everything else was like an old-fashioned 2D image, fading and crinkling at the edges; static, depthless.

                Reluctant to romanticise what he couldn’t remember properly, he shrugged. “It could be anything. It’s freedom, first and foremost.”

                Jyn seemed satisfied enough, and for a moment he relaxed into the companionable silence like he was sinking into a hot pool.

                Then she spoke again, her words fragile, almost shy, though she tried to put some steel into the questions. “What would you have done anyway? If there had been no Empire, no Rebellion?”

                Another angle that he might not have pursued for anyone else; but Jyn’s experience felt like it ran parallel to his in so many ways. It wasn’t so much idle speculation, as wondering whether he could even have existed in a galaxy that hadn’t required all the things he’d done. Cassian searched the murkiest part of his memories, looking for some more tangible reminiscence than _cold_ : blizzards, drifts, ice; a blinding white expanse, featureless to anyone who wasn’t familiar with Fest’s mountains and the stars visible in its skies.

                His father had always been a restless man — would they have stayed on Fest for his whole life even without the Separatists bringing war, driving them off-world? “I have no idea,” he admitted. “No idea who I’d have been.”

                Jyn’s attention was fixed on her crystal again. He could see the skin of her thumb go white and then red with the pressure she placed on it, running it once more along the long edges of the crystal’s shape. “No,” she murmured. “No, how could we know?”

                An involuntary shudder ran through the muscles of his shoulders and he pushed himself to his feet. He tamped down on the curiosity that rose in him, wondering why she had asked those questions, wondering what she was thinking now as she continued to turn that necklace over in her hands. It must have been a relic from her past, no doubt connected to her father and his research. _No_ , he wasn’t curious. Thinking about what-ifs and might-have-beens wouldn’t help him sleep any better than the frustrating dreams that had bothered him earlier.

                Jyn looked up at him with a wan smile though, and it was like a blow to the sternum. Like when she’d opened the door in the hostel earlier, her face framed by the saffron and rust of her robes, and the pink flowers wilting around her forehead. He stopped, one boot over the threshold, unable to respond.

                Doubt, or self-consciousness, or whatever she saw in his own eyes soon scared the look off her face. She got to her feet and brushed herself down. In silence, they retraced their steps, and Cassian returned to his rumpled cot, listening once more to her settle a few metres away. At least sleep, when it finally came, was now dreamless.


	21. Chapter 21

Morning on the planet’s surface came with a mist even thicker than that of the previous night. As they gathered outside Mowna’s building, Jyn prodded at the tracks left in the mud at the edge of the shield; some local predator had taken an interest in them during the night, evidently.

                They’d agreed to send a message to Raddus for Mowna, updating him on the status of Ithor’s readiness to commit to the Rebellion. Now, they just waited for Mowna to emerge, bringing the encryptions and recorded holovid she was entrusting to them.

                Sounds were muffled in the thick, wet air, but local animal calls swam back and forth around them. They couldn’t see beyond the clearing, and Jyn assumed that the sense of anxiety, of taut wariness, sprang from the combination of waiting, the oppressive atmosphere, and the fact that everyone seemed to have drifted in and out of particularly vivid dreams through the night.

                Her own had been made of white sand and sparkling, glassy outcrops. She’d stumbled aimlessly around the landscape, one hand shielding her eyes and another held to her kyber crystal. It seemed to glow warmer when she walked in a particular direction, and she’d eventually stumbled across a matching necklace. A woman whose face she couldn’t quite see picked it up and offered it to her, but for some reason, Jyn had been reluctant to take it. She’d edged away from the woman, irritated by her attention, and she’d slunk away into the sudden darkness of a cave, although the other had followed her, the second necklace still held out to her. Her path had been lit by green glowing shards, and although Jyn recognised nothing about the planet in her dreams, it all felt distantly familiar, even the woman who followed her so persistently.

                Assuming now that it had been some ghost of her mother — bringing some inscrutable message from the Force, if Chirrut were to be believed — she wrapped her robes tightly about her own clothes and shivered, wishing that they shielded her from the heavy, wet air better.

                Chirrut himself provided little reassurance this morning. He paced with determination back and forth, receding and emerging from the mists at the edge of the clearing. Jyn wondered what he’d dreamed; she’d seen so little really rattle him, or really puncture the easy optimism that he exuded. When Chirrut was antsy, they all grew more uneasy. A questioning glance at Baze produced little more than a shrug, so she returned her attention to Mowna’s doorway, waiting for the Ithorian to join them.

                When she did appear, she moved faster than Jyn had seen any Ithorian move to that point, her stride lengthening and her head held high, with her eyes wide. “There is news emerging from the city,” her voice rumbled.

                “What news?” Cassian turned to face her.

                Chirrut’s pacing brought him back towards them, and he tilted his head up to where Mowna’s large, bent neck rattled with nervous breaths. “Trouble?”

                Mowna blinked acknowledgement. “Something happened when the market vendors were first setting up.  I can’t get much information from the usual channels, but the Imperial channels are very active. Stormtroopers are being called to the market.”

                “We need to get off-world, fast,” Jyn looked at Cassian, searching for any trace of the uncertainty he’d shown last night. He looked right back at her, and she saw that he still wondered whether they’d better serve Ithor by staying, but when her brows dropped and her stance firmed, he gave a small nod of reassurance.

                “That’s the best course of action,” he agreed. “We need to get that message to Raddus faster than ever if things have turned sour up there.”

                With hasty farewells, they began a rushed trek behind Booruma, wending their way back through the jungle paths to the foot of the turbolift. If their steps were louder and their boots caught more often on the trailing roots of trees and vines, the local fauna — and hungry flora — remained deterred by the sense that this group was already well-prepared for a fight.

                As the light improved with the turbolift’s journey back to the floating city, Jyn saw how well its structure blended with the city’s base, where the treeline met the dripping arrays and repulsor engines that kept the city afloat. No one flying past would notice that one tube descended all the way from the city to the jungle, and the closer Jyn looked, the less certain she was that this was indeed the only route to the surface.

                The sacred gardens remained a haven of peace when they entered them, but the sounds of the streets beyond were more than those of a sleepy city trundling into wakefulness. The low speech of the Ithorians was like the rumble of a gathering storm, and the metallic shouts of stormtroopers rose above it, accompanied by the sound of hurrying boots.

                Booruma peered through a hatch in the exterior wall of the gardens before ushering them out into a dark, thin alley. “Go to your left and circle round; the market is the centre of all this,” she urged.

                Jyn pulled her hood and veil tighter and she walked quickly behind the others; Cassian had pulled his commlink from his pocket and was hailing Bodhi.

                “We need to get out of here, _now_.”

                “You don’t say? What the frag is going on out there?”

                “Doesn’t matter. Get to the shuttle with Rhinzi, get it prepped, keep it warm. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

                “Roger that,” Bodhi signed off just as they came to the end of the alley. The street beyond was lined with workshops overflowing with scrap metal and boxes of wires; the engineers’ quarter, incongruous amid the greenery of the living city. A few Ithorians peered out from their shops, but the shutters of many were still drawn. Heading to the market might have been risky, but Jyn did not relish the idea of strolling through these empty streets either. Too conspicuous.

                Nevertheless, that was where their route took them, and she followed the other three, trying to draw her shoulders down, to affect some display of relaxed nonchalance. Circling around the city took much longer than cutting through, but they only saw two pairs of troopers.

                “… sure it’s not the rebel scum?” one asked the other as they jogged past.

                Abruptly, Cassian came to a halt in front of them. Jyn’s heart was already hammering in her chest, and now she felt a surge of vertigo, half-certain he was going to tell them he’d stay on Ithor, would return to his old recruitment work now that it was needed. She was glad that the veil and hood kept her expression hidden.

                “We need to know what this is.”

                “But you told Bodhi …” Baze reminded him.

                “I _know_ what I told Bodhi; but Raddus needs to know the situation.” Cassian offered an apologetic shrug having snapped his response. “I’m the least conspicuous; if this is some problem involving pilgrims, and I’ll bet our ship that it is, then you all need to steer clear of it. I’ll see you at the ship soon.”

                Jyn clenched her hands into fists but nodded. And with a glance at all of them, he slipped away in the direction the troopers had taken, back towards the building sound. At least there hadn’t been blaster-fire yet.

                By the time they reached the far-end of the spaceport, Jyn was ready to abandon all pretense of caution and to simply sprint for their ship. The Ithorian official entered their identities slower than a sarlacc digesting a womp rat, and Jyn clamped her jaw together, trying not to fidget as the few remaining stormtroopers on guard at the port watched them idly.

                “Your pilot has not yet arrived,” the official blinked blearily at them. “No boarding until the pilot checks in.”

                “ _What_?” Jyn hissed. A glance revealed that the troopers had perked up a little as they listened in on the conversation. She made herself step back again, breathing deeply. “I mean, could you say whether he has entered the spaceport yet?”

                The Ithorian regarded her without moving; she thought perhaps he was just going to ignore her completely, when one of the Imperials’ comms squalked. “Problem over here, we’ve got some guy smuggling a blade. Backup needed.”

                The troopers surveyed Jyn and her fellow ‘pilgrims’, then the leader shrugged. “Roger. On our way.” They set off across the permacrete to the opposite end of the spaceport.

                She tugged on Baze’s sleeve, but he’d already turned to meet what he could see of her horrified expression above her veil. “ _Bodhi_ ,” she whispered. “He had Cassian’s…”

                They both looked over at the Ithorian official. He closed his eyes slowly and grunted, before turning leisurely, deliberately away from them to consult his console.

                Chirrut was the first to take advantage of the gesture, hurrying past the security area as Jyn and Baze dashed to keep up. They made it to the ship and Jyn went to speed up, to reach a point where she could see what was happening at the other end of the spaceport. But a heavy grip on her shoulder held her back. “Little sister — we need you to get the ship online. Chirrut and I can’t get us out of here; without the others, only you can.”

                She paused, and felt Baze’s grip tighten as she tensed, considering running on anyway. His eyebrows raised with consternation and his expression was as earnest, as urgent as it had been on their flight from Scarif. “Jyn. We won’t leave without the others. But you can get things ready so we can get out of here as quickly as possible.”

                Jyn grimaced, recognising the truth of what he said. She gave a sharp nod and ran to _Rogue One_ , hammering the code into the access panel. Chirrut lingered at the foot of the ship’s ramp, focussed on the sounds and sensations that reached him from the other end of the port, apparently trying to size up the best approach. Baze retrieved his cannon from the hold and waited on the ramp, ready to provide covering fire if necessary.

                She hated descending into the cockpit at this point. The ship’s nose pointed away from wherever Bodhi was, and alone, she had to double-check and question every switch she flicked, every button she pressed. She moved from the pilot’s chair to the co-pilot’s and back again, surveying the lights obsessively. It looked right: the engines and life-support had all thrummed to life when she’d asked them to, and it _sounded_ right, too. But her mind wasn’t fully on it; she felt fragmented, torn with worry for Bodhi, somewhere nearby, and Cassian, somewhere else in the city.

                She looked up the access ladder and considered leaving; the ship was ready now, it would still be ready when they all returned. But she knew that was a sure-fire way to lose the ship; even on somewhere like Ithor, some opportunist wouldn’t hesitate to pilfer a primed, unlocked shuttle.

                Still, she nearly leapt the whole way up it when she heard shouts and blaster-fire. “Baze!” she roared. “What the kriff is going on out there?”

                The shots were coming closer; some might have come from Baze’s own cannon.

                Then she nearly got Bodhi’s boot in her face as he hurtled into the access shaft and slid down the ladder. “Get in the co-pilot’s chair,” he said breathlessly, bounding into his own seat. “And buckle up, we’ve got to get past that fragging destroyer, too.”

                Jyn was already in the chair before the next word left her lips. “Cassian?”

                Bodhi’s big eyes flickered over her and he gave the smallest of nods. “Yeah, we’ve got him.”

                Her mind was buzzing with questions, but necessity demanded concentration. Her hands moved across the console, and she noted with relief that Bodhi’s cursory check found no controls needed altering from her earlier efforts. Soon they were speeding towards the hazy blue crescent of space, rattling through the atmosphere and Bodhi pushed the acceleration, hard.

                Something on the console bleeped, and Jyn saw a central panel light up with a handful of red dots. TIEs. She reached up and flipped the switches to activate the ship’s weapons. “Baze!” Bodhi called into the comm. “Get to our new gunnery. Get rid of those fighters.”

                Boots clattered in the hold, and Jyn drew a deep, shaky breath. “I’m no fighter pilot,” she warned.

                “Me neither,” Bodhi replied. “But here we are…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...last one for tonight, I'm so sorry guys! Hopefully the next update won't be too far off though :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been hoarding chapters again, sorry. Here's hoping someone was looking forward to an update! XD

Sometimes he thought that bored recruits with blasters would end the Empire before anyone else could manage it. Left to their own devices, with an unclear objective and orders to monitor a strange subset of galactic society — swaddled in robes and coverings, muttering prayers, clustered in groups from planets forgotten even to the Empire, and just going about their business — an Imperial drone would get bored quickly. And they always took it out on others.

                Having tugged back the hood of some innocuous pilgrim in the market, a group of troopers had found that the pilgrim’s companions objected to this treatment. Chaos, it appeared, had quickly spread, and when a falling stormtrooper broke the wares at an Ithorian market stall, the locals also lost patience with their sullen occupiers. By the time Cassian had arrived to peer through the crowds it was clear that he’d be able to do little to affect the situation either way; dust rose thick in the market with the trampling feet of gathered locals and the majority of the garrison. No shots had been fired yet, but the sick tug he felt in his chest came with the familiarity of the situation.

If the Ithorians were going to fight back, then the Empire would seize the excuse to ‘subdue’ the planet. The most useful thing he could do would be to make sure that Mowna’s message reached Raddus as soon as possible.

                But then, making his way towards the ship, he had to repress the urge to swear. There was Bodhi, trying to put a brave face on the Ithorian’s accusatory rumblings. The official had swiftly deposited the confiscated vibroblade with the stormtroopers who huddled close, and now wagged a long, disapproving finger at Bodhi. The pilot shrugged ineffectually, his eyes round even behind the goggles of the breathing apparatus designed to hide his face from Imperial software.

                Cassian’s gaze darted to Rhinzi, who trembled and Bodhi’s side. The old man had not gone to pieces yet, but Cassian didn’t imagine that his composure would last long, not least when a pair of curious stormtroopers stood by.

Two more troopers approached across the hangar, so Cassian squared his shoulders and barged into the group, feigning an easy, friendly smile.

                “Hey, is there a problem here?”

                Bodhi looked at him in astonishment and the Ithorian said a few choice words in his native language, followed by a reiteration, in Basic, of the city’s weapon-free status. The stormtroopers watched idly, their weapons held across their chests and their stances easy.

                Cassian forced his grin wider, pretending he hadn’t understood what had been spoken in Ithorese. He gestured ostentatiously at the blade, deliberately ignoring the stormtroopers; acting like he had nothing to fear from them. “Oh, this? We got it at the market. We were told it was just simply the only way to cut the edible fungi fresh from their trunks…” he grabbed a rotting stump of wood from the satchel Bodhi carried, gesturing at the blue fungi that covered it, and ignoring the way the stormtroopers twitched to alertness at his movement.

                “Who? Who supplied this?” the Ithorian official grunted, and Cassian almost felt a pang of guilt at bringing some nameless vendor into his lie.

                “Oh, I don’t know his name,” he looked at Bodhi, slapped his arm in a friendly gesture. “We dealt with so many, right? So many wanted to do business with us. He looked a bit like you, though. Same colour eyes.”

                All Ithorians had the same colour eyes; the customs official narrowed his and rumbled at Cassian. The sounds, if one listened quite carefully, might have invoked ancient nature spirits and forest deities, belying the peaceful nature of the local belief-system.

                “You the pilot for _Io_?” one of the newly arrived troopers interjected, waving the end of his blaster at Bodhi, who flinched.

                “Yes! Uh, yes!” Bodhi said from behind the mask. “Am I clear to go now?”

                The trooper answered with another wave of his blaster. His comm clicked, and the others cocked their heads; he was evidently addressing them on a private channel. Cassian felt that the situation was starting to move beyond his control. Rhinzi evidently felt the same: his muttered prayers started to resolve into the words “don’t let them take me back!” and Cassian wished he had some way of shutting the old man up.

                “What’s his problem?” the first trooper asked, jutting his helmet at Rhinzi.

                “Ah, he just had such a great time here, he doesn’t want to go home,” Cassian shrugged.

                “Only been here one night,” another trooper commented, peering at the Ithorian official’s datapad.

                “You, take your hood off,” the leader commanded, taking a step towards Rhinzi, once more emphasising his words with the blaster’s muzzle.

                Cassian coiled, ready to respond. Bodhi’s shoulders squared as Rhinzi looked to him for reassurance though; to Cassian’s surprise, the old man took a step away from the trooper. “No.”

                “You _will_ take your hood off!” the trooper commanded as Rhinzi cringed back.

                Then several things happened in quick succession. As the trooper gestured with his blaster, the Ithorian official lost patience with the ostentatious display of weaponry; Cassian, too, decided that, as this was going to be messy whatever happened, he’d rather it got messy before they were connected with the prison raid on Nam Chorios. Both he and the Ithorian converged on the trooper, and one of the Imperial’s comrades behind him panicked. Shots no doubt meant for Cassian hit the Ithorian’s side, and the distraction let Cassian wrench the blaster from the first stormtrooper’s gloved hand.

                The Ithorian bellowed, and the stormtrooper who had fired froze for a moment. As Cassian knocked his own target to the ground, the Ithorian customs guard lurched angrily at the one who had injured him.

                Cassian shouted a warning in Ithorese, but the guard paid no attention; he was gunned down as his large body stumbled forwards onto the man who had shot him.

                That trooper’s weapon clattered free from his grip as he was pinned under the tall alien’s body, and even before Cassian could give the instruction, Bodhi had dived for the ground, scrabbling to retrieve the weapon before the stormtrooper could get to it.

                Cassian fired at the trooper he’d disarmed, ducking the shots from one of the two remaining Imperials. To his left, Bodhi’s trembling aim fired on the trooper pinned to the ground, and he saw the fourth Imperial circling around the customs consoles. He raised his blaster to fire, but the weapon was knocked from his hands by a red bolt of plasma — without thinking, he dropped to the ground just in time to hear more blasts whine through the space where he’d stood moments before. He kept moving, coming to a crouch again as he made it to the comparative cover of a data console.

                Bodhi was sheltering in the lee of another console a few metres from him, but Rhinzi struggled against the grip of the trooper who’d been circling around.

                “Shoot him,” Cassian hissed at Bodhi, nodding his head at the trooper.

                “I can’t!” the pilot replied. “There’s no way I’ll hit just one of them!” As if to prove the impossibility of it, Bodhi peeked over the console, ducking down immediately as he was targeted by fire from the other remaining Imperial.

                “Show yourselves, rebel scum!” The trooper holding Rhinzi pushed him into a clearer view. His blaster was still at his side in a gesture of complacency that nearly took Cassian’s breath away. But the white-armoured figure shook Rhinzi in his grip, hauling him to his tiptoes by his robe. “I’ll snap his neck if you don’t down weapons and come out!”

                Cassian looked over at Bodhi. Did the other man understand his raised eyebrows, the suggestive movement of his lips and his shrug in the direction of the other trooper? If Bodhi could just get a shot off in the direction of the lone Imperial whilst Cassian moved to intercept the one holding Rhinzi, they might stand a chance…

                But then the far trooper dropped to the ground with a grunt under a blow from Chirrut’s staff. “Reinforcements incoming,” Chirrut warned, pirouetting to avoid a blast from across the spaceport.

                Lasers began to crisscross through the air again; Baze’s cannon roared from somewhere behind one of the parked ships, and Bodhi dashed closer to Chirrut to provide cover for him to get behind the landing strut of another vessel.

                Cassian used the sudden confusion to close the distance between him and Rhinzi and the trooper. The Imperial saw him coming and pushed the old man away, but Cassian hit the trooper in the middle before he could raise his blaster.

                They both fell to the ground, and both scrabbled at the trooper’s waist for his blaster; the armour prevented the Imperial from being winded too much by the fall though, and when neither of them was able to grasp the blaster first, the trooper instead freed a hand to punch up at Cassian’s face.

                He reeled back as the trooper freed his weapon, but wound his fingers around the black-gloved wrist, digging his nails into the softer armour as he forced the Imperial’s hand away at an awkward angle. After what felt like an eternity, the blaster dropped from the trooper’s grip, and Cassian tried to reach across himself to claim it.

                Seeing this, the trooper sat up abruptly, slamming his helmet into Cassian’s head as he did, so Cassian twisted a leg to kick the blaster away from both of them, even as his vision popped with specks of light from the impact. The trooper followed up the headbutt with another blow from his fist, and Cassian was forced onto his own back, losing his grip on the other man’s wrist.

                As the Imperial tried to come to his feet, Cassian blinked at the sudden presence of swirling robes: Rhinzi beat open-palmed on the stormtrooper’s plast shoulders, the concussive force of his blows seeming to travel more through his own body than that of the trooper’s.

                Seeing the man round on Rhinzi’s ineffectual attack, Cassian tried to stand, but found that his head was still clearing. Dizzily, he grabbed the nearest white-armoured leg and pulled, again hooking his fingers cruelly into the soft, unarmoured spot at the back of the trooper’s knee.

                The man’s shout was briefly satisfying, but then his free leg swung around to plant a boot in Cassian’s side. Even as the stormtrooper’s body finally dropped — from one of Bodhi’s shots? Or Baze’s? — Cassian wheezed, curling on himself. It wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever felt; far from it; but it was an echo of an all-too-recent injury, and he suspected that he’d broken ribs that had only just been healed.

                There was no time to stay down though: Rhinzi had found cover to cower in, but the newly arrived reinforcements must have been closing in, despite the efforts of the others. They needed to get to the ship.

                Reminding himself that he’d climbed further after much worse, Cassian clenched his fists and teeth and rolled onto all fours. He was covered by the consoles as he crawled to Rhinzi, whom he fixed with a piercing stare.

                “Thank you. Can you run?”

                Rhinzi shook his head wildly. “I am not fast!”

                Cassian looked over him. The arm that he gripped through Rhinzi’s robed was as scrawny as the leg of a cane bird. “Climb on my back.”

                When Rhinzi tried to protest, he repeated it in a tone that made the old man flinch. At a crouch, he weighed little, although Cassian’s side shrieked with pain as he straightened and began his darting run for the cover Chirrut had used earlier. Light and heat zipped through the air around him, but he jinked and dived, passing Baze’s sentinel-like form and gasping the ozone-filled atmosphere.

                He couldn’t hear beyond his own ragging breath by the time his boots hit the _Rogue One_ ’s landing ramp; Rhinzi’s bony fingers continued to dig ferociously into his shoulders, so he assumed his passenger had also arrived safely. The last few steps seemed to take him down a dark tunnel as he steered them into cover at the edge of the ramp. Rhinzi slid from his back and Baze and Chirrut’s faces were turned towards him in the half-light of their own sheltered position by the landing ramp.

                Cassian dimly heard Bodhi’s instruction to close the ramp, and turned to find the panel, but Rhinzi was already pounding the button with his arthritic thumbs.

                The ship was primed for take-off, and he followed his feet through the hold towards the cockpit until Baze’s heavy grip landed on his shoulder.

                “Take a seat, Captain. Jyn and Bodhi have got this.”

                The weight of Baze’s hand was enough to make his knees shudder, so he took the advice, wincing as the force of the ship’s acceleration pushed him back into a flight chair.

                As the ship shuddered up through Ithor’s atmosphere and the edges of his vision came and went with each painful breath, Rhinzi’s shaking hands pulled the combat restraints across him, and the old man sat beside him, praying all the while under his breath. Baze and Chirrut both dashed down to man the lower guns when Bodhi’s voice called through the comms, and with the ship’s sudden lurch and groan under fire, Cassian let his lead loll on his shoulder. Just as consciousness deserted him, he felt a guilty twinge: he should be in the cockpit, not here, cut off in the hold, where he couldn’t see anything or do anything to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuugh this did not want to be written, sorry if it shows.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Space fights are %("%&"(ing HARD to write, guys!

A well-oiled machine they were not. Jyn and Bodhi swore alternately as they bumped elbows, fumbled after the same switches and generally miscommunicated. Luckily, what resulted was a shuttle trajectory so random and haphazard that the TIEs following them were hard-pressed to score a direct hit.

                Whatever, or whoever, the Imperials thought they were, was not yet clear. Whether they were to be herded towards the star destroyer, or their shields were to be ground down until they could be obliterated, was not something Jyn was interested in learning. In between manoeuvres, she and Bodhi punched calculations into the navigation console for a zig-zag of hyperspace routes.

                “ _Ossus_?”

                “Yeah, do you know it?”

                “No, never heard of it — Jyn! To starboard!”

                “Fine, I’ve got it… Oseon, then?”

                “…rings a bell.”

                “There’s a — why isn’t Baze firing? There’s an asteroid belt there…”

                “Baze! Everything ok?”

                “Yeah…you know what…yeah.”

                Jyn exchanged a look with Bodhi. “Reassuring. Thanks, Baze.”

                “Oh, I’ve got it. You realise that’s at the other end of the galaxy, right?”

                “Wait, did you _see_ that?”

                “Great shot, Baze, more like that!”

                Baze’s voice sounded a little rattled: “Thank Chirrut. The Force might get us out of this yet…”

                “O…okay. Just keep it up, whatever’s happening…” Bodhi’s fingers twitched nervously over the navicomputer. “At least losing them should be easy if we can just get far enough from the planet … we’ve got more than a few obstacles to navigate between here and Oseon, it won’t be a simple trail for anyone to follow.”

                As their lasers found the trailing TIEs with increasing ease, Jyn grimaced to see the star destroyer belch forth a new battalion of fighters. She and Bodhi kept the ship swerving and looping its drunken course, but the new arrivals seemed to take a more predatory approach than those that had come before. At least the star destroyer held back. It was jamming their comms from orbit, but these Imperials were arrogant about their ability to deal with any threat emerging from a pacifist planet like Ithor.

                “Do you get the feeling they’re targeting something in particular?” she said through gritted teeth as Bodhi strained to tilt the ungainly shuttle away from a burst of green lancing its way through the blackness around them.

                Bodhi’s expression was steelier than she’d ever seen it: his big eyes perpetually round with shock, but his jaw clenched. “They keep aiming to our starboard.”

                “Trying to steer us?” she gave a grunt as a shot rumbled over their shields, adjusting the side thrusters to add emphasis to Bodhi’s manoeuvre.

                “Maybe…”

                The zeta-class shuttle was fairly heavily armoured, but it was not designed for manoeuvrability or speed. Baze — or Chirrut — was doing what he could to keep their pursuers at bay, but their main weaponry was of little use. The heavy wing-canons were forward-mounted, and Jyn couldn’t get a shot off when the TIEs stayed carefully behind them, buzzing at their exhausts like drochs scenting a life force.

                “Kriff, Jyn, I know what they’re aiming for,” Bodhi pushed the throttle forward so hard she thought it might snap off in his white-knuckled grip. She shook her head, her lips tight as she shrugged a mute question.

                “Have you got Mowna’s message?”

                Jyn nearly leapt from the chair at the realisation that it was still with Cassian. The flight restraints dug into her shoulders, forcing her to concentrate on where she was. “Sithspit. Cassian has it.”

                “Well we’re reaching the limits of their jammers. So they’re targeting our comms array. If we want any hope of passing that message on…”

                “Roger that. Any chance we could trick a few of them into coming into range of these forward cannons?”

                Bodhi looked at her, a manic light dancing in his eyes. “I always wanted to try and corkscrew one of these…”

                Jyn’s hands flew across the thruster controls to keep up with Bodhi’s own movement.

                “Of course, they usually break apart in the sims…” he added through a strained expression. Jyn tried to swear at him, but the g-forces of the manoeuvre pushed her back in her flight chair as the shuttle commenced its ungraceful whirl.

                Jyn inched her fingers to the targeting computer against the unrelenting pressure of her flight restraints. Their trajectory slowed them down relative to their pursuers, and a handful of TIEs started to overshoot their target. The forward cannons roared gratefully when Jyn gave them something to hit, and she dimly heard Bodhi’s whoop as they juddered through the TIEs’ wreckage, emerging on an even course once more.

                “You—“ she began, but Bodhi’s nervous laugh cut her off.

                “I think that did it! Check the comms...”

                Jyn met his eyes and flipped the comms to external channels. The pregnant silence of space returned through the speakers, rather than a jammer’s aggressive static crackle. “We’re out of range of their jammers!” The star destroyer hesitated in orbit still, but they’d managed to gain enough distance from it that the TIEs were now left with no option but to disable their communications physically.

                She scanned the navicomputer’s screen, cursing to see that it was still loading the calculations for the first few legs of their lengthy onward journey. “Come on, _come on_ …” she hissed at it.

                “Jyn, set the thrusters on full,” Bodhi said. It sounded like more of a suggestion than an order, so she shot him a querulous look — but he gave a minute nod, and it was enough for her to trust him, so she ratcheted both on full as Bodhi continued to push the throttle.

                The shuttle’s nose dipped comparative to the visible systems ahead of them. Slowly, reluctantly, they began a loop-the-loop that would — eventually — take them behind the fighters that had been pursuing them. From the belly of the shuttle, the weapon supplied by Admiral Ackbar now had an even clearer view of their attackers, and Jyn could only assume that their gunners were taking advantage of this.

                The TIEs were notoriously quick to respond though, and whilst Jyn had the opportunity to fire a couple of bursts at some stragglers, Bodhi’s latest attempt to buy them some time hadn’t left them in a much better position than before. A group of TIEs had jerked their courses around in front of them, returning to face them head-on.

                She gritted her teeth and longed for the flexibility of a simple blaster fight. As Bodhi jinked the shuttle as much as he could, Jyn struggled to hit the three small targets; they were such flimsy craft that it wouldn’t take much of a hit to get them out of the picture, but the manoeuvrability of her own lasers made the shuttle itself look as sleek and responsive as an X Wing.

                Finally, as the orbs of the TIEs glittered into recognisability outside the viewport, her shots took one straight in its centre and clipped the wing of the next fighter; it spun across the path of the third just as it opened fire, but she didn’t get a chance to see if the two collided. Their own shields flared irascibly and she had to raise an arm as she flinched away from the impact of the TIE’s shots.

                Through the fading glare, she could just about see one fighter still careening towards them. “Bodhi! He’s going to hit us!”

                She slammed one set of thrusters on as Bodhi hauled the ship to port, but the flaming corpse of the TIE fighter still detonated on their shields. They both shouted obscenities over the sudden beeping from the flight console.

                “Was that the shield? Or the navicomp?” Jyn’s hands flew over switches, seeking out the red ones and looking for the readjustments needed.

                “Shield,” Bodhi grimaced, even as her glance confirmed this. The computer was working its way towards completion but hadn’t made it there yet.

                “Baze — Chirrut! Keep them off our starboard in particular, our shields are weakened,” she ordered.

                Another juddering hit rocked the ship, and another bleeping from the console followed it.

                “Oh, _frag_ , that star destroyer’s finally decided to join the party…” Bodhi muttered, switching off the alert that told them the larger vessel was leaving orbit.

                “Starboard shield’s barely holding on,” was all the response she had. Suddenly she was glad to be flying the shuttle; if she’d not had to concentrate on flying, she’d have been able to fixate on the sharp edge of the star destroyer moving across their screens. Jyn had never been on board one of the massive ships, but — at least until they’d encountered the Death Star — the novelty of their sheer enormity had been enough to make her shudder at the thought of entering their depths.

                The comms clicked and popped. “Shuttle _Io_ , this is the star destroyer _Harrower_. Cease hostilities and surrender to the Empire for questioning. If you do not comply, we will be forced to destroy you on suspicion of incitement to terrorism on the planet Ithor.”

                “Bugger that…” Jyn growled, cutting off the transmission with a snap.

                Bodhi’s swift, nervy grin made her laugh, despite the increasing number of red lights on her dashboard. “A few seconds and we’ll have our co-ordinates confirmed,” she noted with relief.

                “We’re getting kind of swamped back here,” Baze’s voice came through the internal comm. “What’s the news?”

                “Just hold on…” Jyn watched the timer on the navicomputer scroll down.

                Bodhi reached a hand above him, groping for the hyperdrive controls.

                Just as the counter entered single digits, another blow racked the shuttle, jolting it over to port.

                “Did you hear rending?” she looked at Bodhi. “I definitely heard metal tear…”

                His hand had firmed on the lever in the ceiling panel though. The computer had completed its calculations, and Jyn studied the combination of emotions that scrolled across Bodhi’s face. There was a ferociousness to him that she understood must have helped him come through whatever Saw had done to him; backed into a corner, Bodhi Rook didn’t cower and give up.

                The ship shrieked and rumbled as the light outside the viewport changed. Jyn’s hands tightened on the console and she felt like her teeth were about to rattle loose from her head. Having survived the gaze of the Death Star three times; having been plucked from certain death on Wobani; was she now going to be torn apart along with this battered shuttle and her ragtag band of fellow survivors?

                Bodhi whooped when the ship’s movement settled into the steady, smooth hum of hyperspace, but all Jyn could do was exhale around her tightened jaw.

                “Everyone with us?” Bodhi asked over the comm.

                Jyn saw the flash of panic cross his face as a beat of silence followed.

                “We’re here, Bodhi. We’re all here,” Chirrut finally confirmed, his voice sounding as wobbly as their hull did to Jyn’s rattled ears.

                Numbly, she unclipped her combat harness and came to an unsteady stance. She smirked, despite the nausea threatening to overwhelm her.

                “You’re a mad one, Bodhi Rook,” she chuckled down at him.

                Bodhi grinned again. “Thanks. Lucky these shuttles can take quite a beating…”

                Jyn snorted. “Okay, but I think we’ve tested that enough for now.” She turned, supporting herself with one hand on Bodhi’s shoulder and another on her own flight chair. At least in climbing the access ladder, she found the strength in her arms was more reliable than that in her legs felt.

                As her eyes adjusted to the low light of the hold, she heard Baze and Chirrut approaching from below. Squinting, she also spotted Rhinzi struggling with his harness.

                “It’s safe now?” he asked.

                “Yeah,” Jyn frowned as she stepped forwards. “Yeah, we’ll need to be careful over the next few jumps, but we should be able to lose them between here and Oseon.”

                Rhinzi nodded absently, finally pulling the clips of his restraints free. “Med kit. Do you have a med kit?” he stammered, approaching her with the supplicatory hands he held out with almost every speech.

                “I’m fine,” Cassian’s voice croaked from the chair next to where Rhinzi had been. He was hidden in the shadows and his wheezing undertones belied his words.

                Jyn turned and rummaged in a bulkhead for the med kit as Chirrut emerged from the lower deck, followed by Baze. “Do you still have Mowna’s message?” she asked, trying to shut down the worry that threatened to worm its way through her.

                “I have it,” Cassian replied. If anything, she thought he sounded grateful that she’d changed the conversation first.

                Jyn hauled the med kit free from its straps, spinning and nearly knocking Rhinzi flat with the bulky metal box.

                Cassian had left the flight chair and half-stood awkwardly in front of the seat, one arm still reached out across the seat-back to steady himself. Jyn could see the slight glint of sweat on his face against his pallor. There was no blood visible beyond a cut drying above one of his brows though, and she’d seen him in a far worse way than this.

                “We should send Mowna’s message on now,” he said, reaching for a jacket pocket and wincing as he did so.

                “Yeah, about that…” Bodhi’s head appeared from the cockpit access ladder.

                “I _did_ hear metal tearing,” Jyn grumbled, letting Rhinzi shakily take the medical box from her.

                “’Fraid so. The whole comm array is gone.”

                The grim silence was punctuated by a few half-hearted curses.

                “But, on the bright side — we do have a very long journey to the Oseon system. And the ship will need refuelling along the way. So, I’m open to suggestions regarding the sort of planet that will … oh, I don’t know …” Bodhi’s hands fluttered expansively and he rolled his eyes before beginning to count off points on his long fingers. “One: have absolutely no official Imperial presence. Two: won’t be monitoring Imperial channels and considering the value of alerting them to the presence of a laser damaged zeta-class shuttle last seen fleeing Ithor. And three: won’t question a ship that’s landing without comms.”

                Baze snorted, folding his arms and leaning back against the bulkhead. “It’s good to know that our needs remain modest.”

                “Well if no one has any idea yet, I suggest we all get searching the databases,” Bodhi shrugged. “Can’t help but feel we’ve left Ithor in the lurch after all that…”

                Jyn racked her brains for somewhere that would fit their needs. Hutt space would take them further from their destination, and deals made there came with too many strings attached. In fact, too many of the deals that she remembered making anywhere had come with too many strings attached. And she was finding it hard to focus as Rhinzi and Cassian bickered about the contents of the med kit; she approached them with a frown. “What is going on here?”

                “He’s hurt, he won’t let me help,” Rhinzi complained, gesturing at Cassian with a handful of gauze.

                “I don’t need your help,” Cassian grumbled. “It’s nice that you’re grateful, but I can handle this myself.”

                Despite the weariness and pain evident on Cassian’s expression as he batted away Rhinzi’s hands, Jyn found herself smiling. “What happened down there? Thought we were leaving you in the market place at one point…”

                She winced when he looked up at her; she’d let more genuine worry slip out in those soft words than she’d intended.

                Cassian’s deep gaze roved over her, and he managed an apologetic quirk of his lips. “We need to teach Bodhi better smuggling technique.”

                “The stormtroopers were going to find out, they were going to make me go back,” Rhinzi interrupted. “They’d have captured us. They’d have found out about Oseon.”

                Open amusement spread across Cassian’s face; he swiped the medical gauze from Rhinzi as the old man fretted. He looking up at Jyn with a chuckle. “You have such faith in us, Rhinzi.”

                Jyn’s smile was harder than before; Rhinzi couldn’t have known anything about Oseon until he’d boarded the ship. Cassian was referring only to himself, then, and she was simultaneously forced to suppress memories of the interrogations she’d experienced, whilst wondering how many Cassian had lived through. There was a knowing glint in his dark irises as he watched her response; Jyn felt a wave of vertigo as she considered what an abnormal thing this was to bond with someone over. She forced herself to look away from him.

                “Do you know about the Oseon asteroid field?”

                Rhinzi turned to look up at her. He might once have been taller than Jyn, but his shoulders curved forwards now, thrusting his neck out in front of him like a parody of an Ithorian’s shape.

                “No, do you?” she wondered where his newfound talkativeness had come from; confidence in Cassian, and trust in her as another non-Jedhan, grew on him palpably.

                “Rhinzi worked in the mapping offices,” Cassian informed her, rewinding the lengths of bandage that Rhinzi’s shaking hands had unravelled.

                “That’s so,” he nodded vigorously. “The Empire must have constant, up-to-date information on all dangers to fleet movements and trade. Nebulae, electrical storms, asteroids, foreign objects from beyond known space…”

                Jyn raised her eyebrows. “Does Bodhi know this was your work?”

                Rhinzi blinked, surprised. “No! He told me to be brave. He told me it was okay to change my mind about the Empire, whenever it happened, however long it took. I wanted to know what he’d done. I didn’t tell him what I did.”

                Her smile was now relaxed, encouraging. “Go and tell Bodhi when you know about the Oseon asteroids. You’re probably the most well-qualified person aboard to help us get there.”

                Rhinzi looked taken aback, but she saw genuine pleasure on his face for the first time. “Yes. Thank you. Yes, I will help!” He turned, then hesitated. “You need bacta,” he pointed a gnarled finger at Cassian, and his tone dipped into something grandfatherly and stern.

                Cassian grinned crookedly. “Thanks, Pa. I’ll make sure I look after myself.”

                “He’s not wrong, I’m guessing,” Jyn looked down at him as Rhinzi began a slow descent of the ladder into the cockpit.

                Cassian shook his head, reaching for the med box and replacing the gauze. “Just the ribs again. A bacta patch will do it.”

                Jyn plonked herself down on the chair on the opposite side of the aisle to Cassian. “So, you conducted his debriefing in the middle of a deep space combat situation, with broken ribs?”

                He shot her a look, and remained silent as he retrieved a bacta patch and pulled his shirt up. Jyn firmed her lips, catching a glimpse of purple bruising, a nebula itself on soft skin, before she let her eyes drop to her hands. He only spoke when he’d smoothed the patch over his torso and let his shirt drop back down.

                “Not really a debriefing. Bodhi seems to have brought him out of his shell; he’s the most talkative ex-Imperial I’ve ever met now.”

                She snorted mirthlessly.

                “Nice flying, by the way.”

                Jyn gave him a sidelong look. “What would you know from back here?”

                “We got away, didn’t we?”

                “More thanks are due to the gunners for that, I think,” she glanced over at the front row of flight chairs. Baze’s boots hung over the edge, into the aisle space; he lay across two chairs, his head in Chirrut’s lap. Both men’s eyes were closed peacefully, but Jyn knew that they weren’t as isolated from the rest of the galaxy as they appeared. “Nice shooting, Baze, Chirrut?”

                A smile spread across Chirrut’s face, but he kept his eyes closed, as did Baze. “Don’t worry, I didn’t let this reckless fool near the triggers,” he said, his voice even gravellier than usual as he shifted his big shoulders underneath him on the uneven chair. “He just —“

                “ _The Force_ ,” Chirrut insisted.

                “Yeah. Right. The Force — _through_ my wonderful companion here, just told me when to fire. But I’d have got them all anyway. Just wanted to let you feel useful, buddy.” Baze raised a heavy paw and let his fingers stroke delicately down Chirrut’s cheek.

                Chirrut leaned his face into the touch, his hands playing in Baze’s hair and the material at the front of his robe.

                Jyn looked away, leaving them space to negotiate the ongoing rebalancing of abilities in their relationship. “I’ll go and check on the progress of our first jump,” she muttered, gathering the med kit from the seat next to Cassian and replacing it in the bulkhead. She descended the cockpit steps, smiling to see Rhinzi and Bodhi enthusiastically discussing information on a datapad. Despite the prickly moments, this ship, or more precisely those travelling aboard it, were starting to feel like home.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew stop for repairs on the edge of the known galaxy, and Jyn's past begins to catch up with her, raising questions about who she is and who she wants to be.

Several tricky hyperspace jumps later — only one of which was met with a small waiting party of curious Imperial ships — _Rogue One_ arrived at the planet Terminus. It was a muddy combination of sprawling cityscapes and defensive, dense forest, and the space in and around its atmosphere swarmed with ships.

                Bodhi’s eyes were practically on stalks as he brought the shuttle into orbit. “Look, look, look! That’s a Zakuulan charger! How the kriff is that thing still flying?”

                “Bodhi … eyes on the space lanes, _please_ ,” Jyn grimaced. She glanced up at Cassian, who peered over their shoulders. Even he looked a little starry-eyed at the view.

                Terminus’ appropriate name derived from the fact that it was one of the last stops you could make when travelling into — or out of — the Unknown Regions. The Empire hadn’t bothered to lay any claim to it, and no crime syndicate had succeeded in wresting power from the planet’s ancient houses of governance. Ships of all imaginable shapes and sizes circled the planet, and the languages spoken aboard them often baffled even protocol droids, so that landing was more or less regulated by the interaction between ships’ computers and automated traffic control programmes below.

                With a great deal of will-power, Bodhi tore his view from the array of strange vessels around them and followed the instructions of the ship’s console, guiding them down into an empty landing pad at the edge of one of the sprawling urban zones.

                They descended the ramp together, meeting two droids on the permacrete: one silvery-blue protocol unit, and a squat computing droid of some kind. The latter made disapproving beeps as it surveyed the _Rogue One_ in all its laser-scorched glory. “I suspect that may well be the case, Ess-Nine,” the protocol droid replied.

                “Your ship’s records have been modified. The governors of Terminus appreciate the need for customer privacy, and neither your original, nor your modified manifest will be revealed.”

                Bodhi looked accusingly at Cassian, who shrugged, but managed to shoot the computing droid an uneasy glare.

                “Thank you, we appreciate your discretion,” Jyn addressed the droid. “Our ship needs refuelling, and we will be shopping for parts for our comm array.”

                “Expected,” the droid sniffed. Jyn resisted the urge to kick the bucketful of antennae next to it, especially when it renewed its off-key, grumbling beeps. “Vendors can be located in Caascii Market. Payment for refuelling is taken in advance.”

                Jyn nodded at Cassian, who handed over a datapad to transfer credits from the account Raddus had given them access to.

                “We hope you find your stay on Terminus productive!” the droid hailed them as they regrouped in a huddle at the foot of _Rogue One_ ’s landing ramp.

                “I need to get a better look at the damage here,” Bodhi gestured to the ship. “Cassian’s got a list of the parts I know we’ll need, and I’ll comm through additions as I have them.”

                “This seems to me to be the kind of place one doesn’t leave a ship unattended anyway,” Chirrut frowned, his blank blue stare roving across the landing pads.

                “Well, no,” Jyn eyed the other figures darting around the landing area between ships and crates. “I suspect it’s the kind of place where they’ll rob the hull clean off your ship and then sell it back to you at three times the price.”

                “We’ll stick around then, and incinerate anyone who tries to pull that trick,” Baze said decisively. Bodhi gave him a wan smile.

                “Thanks, Baze. Let’s … um …try not to fire unless fired upon first. But I appreciate it.”

                Jyn shrugged at Cassian. “You’re healthy enough for a little shopping, I take it?”

                He raised an eyebrow at her and clipped the powerpack back into his blaster. “I think I can manage that.”

                “Happy hunting,” Baze grinned as the two of them set off in the direction the droids had gone in.

                The streets of Terminus were dominated by grey stone buildings that shouldered their way clear of the planet’s harder, red bedrock. Towers and domes made the city look old, but everything was shabby, covered by dust and soot kicked up by the high volume of space traffic coming and going. The skies screamed with noise, and Jyn had to pull her scarf up over her nose to block out the acrid, oily stench of the air.

                The pair of them shouldered their way through the busy streets, falling into the easy rhythm they’d shared on Jakku. The bump of Cassian’s shoulder, his occasional gentle touch on her elbow, or guiding palm on her back was annoyingly reassuring. Jyn knew where she was going, after all; but he moved with an automatic thought to the person walking beside him — with a view to making sure his contacts didn’t get lost, she reminded herself — yet there was nothing patronising in the touches, just an easy, practiced fluidity.

                She couldn’t be distracted by her own annoyance for long, anyway, not with the array of faces visible on the streets around them. Even though her restless life had taken her to more planets than she could quite remember, Terminus was on another level; she imagined that every species in the known galaxy was to be seen on these streets, and quite a few from the unknown galaxy, too.

                Caascii Market was a vast, covered square. Ancient transparisteel plates fitted together over their heads; a modest amount of golden light from outside even managed to penetrate this ceiling, despite the layer of grey dust covering it, as it did everything on Terminus. The noise was barely lower than it was outside, but instead of competing ion engines, this was the swell and rumble of hundreds and hundreds of voices speaking as many languages as there were people in the market.

                “It’s vast,” Jyn groaned. “And all we want is a few antennae and transmitter components…”

                “You take the first aisle, I’ll start on the second,” Cassian said. He leaned towards her to be heard, but his eyes roved continuously, anxiously over the crowds. “You keep on the odds, I’ll keep on evens.”

                “Fine,” she agreed, letting her own frown scan the people around them again. It seemed like a reasonably well-natured sort of place; it was no Tatooinian scrap yard, anyway; but there were so many bodies in there that Jyn wasn’t sure she’d be able to see it even if a fight broke out a few metres away from her.

                She gave a shiver as she moved away through the crowds on her own. Slowly, she zigzagged from stall to stall, occasionally catching a glimpse of Cassian doing the same in the next corridor between the stalls. On the third aisle, having elbowed her way into the centre of a crowd of towering Duros, Jyn found a stall with boxes of antennae and dishes — all also covered with grey dust. She offered the vendor, a surly, rotund Rodian, a nod, and began pawing through the items, looking for something that would suit Bodhi’s purposes.

                Amongst the ocean of noise that buffeted her, a sound suddenly cut through like a heat-seeking torpedo.

                “Liana! Liana Hallik!”

                Jyn did not look up. She tried not to freeze, or tighten her shoulders, or show in any way that she recognised that name. Slowly, she took her hand from the box of antennae and wiped idly at the dust on her fingers, flicking a cautious, quick glance up at the crowds in the next aisle. She couldn’t see who had shouted out; nor could she see Cassian.

                She felt the Duros part behind her, heard their grumbles as they did so. One of her hands slid to the baton at her thigh, and she flexed the knuckles of the other. The fat Rodian flickered his ears in anticipation as he watched someone approach behind her.

                “Liana Hallik,” the voice repeated, breathy and high. A hand grabbed Jyn’s arm and spun her around; it took all her willpower not to use the baton before she saw who it was.

                A woman, barely taller than Jyn, with a battered flight helmet and grubby, bronze skin, regarded her. The expression on the woman’s face was enough to alarm some of the shoppers around them: she had a furious, excitable gleam in her dark eyes, and wore a half-smile full of sharp teeth.

                Jyn recognised her instantly, and once more tamped down on the urge to draw her baton. The last time she’d seen that face had been a glimpse in a crowd even bigger than the one on the market. Surrounded by baying Imperial recruits and curious residents of Corulag’s main city, Liana Hallik had caught sight of her betrayer: shock hadn’t yet turned into regret on the face of her former ally as she watched stormtroopers parade Jyn, who was then Liana, through the hail of items thrown at her.

                Jyn Erso might have forgotten that blurry last sight of Elysse Cezout, having emerged finally from the hole that Saw had left her in to find herself amongst friends and rebels — but Liana Hallik would never forget it, not having raged at the vision for the long months she spent on Wobani. Elysse had chosen pettiness over ideals, and Liana would not tolerate the nagging suspicion that her own bluntness in pushing Elysse away might have contributed to the other woman’s actions.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jyn snarled. “That’s not my name.”

                The woman threw her head back and barked an animal laugh. “No, it’s probably not. But I know you. I _knew_ you.”

                Jyn’s teeth ground together and her knuckles ached on her baton. The time before Operation Fracture reached out to clasp the time following her escape from Wobani. How many nights had she dreamed of seeing Elysse one last time and breaking her smug face? This was the woman who had betrayed her last, who had ditched their team in a fit of romantic pique, who wasn’t ever going to be all, so had to be _nothing_. She was a pilot and a slicer; Jyn knew she wasn’t a fighter. And now, in the middle of the crowded market, she’d been stupid enough to make herself known to Jyn.

                “No. You didn’t know the first thing about me,” Jyn decided, unhooking her baton and swinging it cleverly through the confined space.

                Elysse tried to tense before the blow, but she didn’t have much time to do so before the baton hit her in the guts. Jyn swung again, aiming for her head, but a heavy grip held her arm up before she could land it. Fury rose hot and swift; fury she’d not unleashed for weeks. Jyn spun below the arm of the well-meaning stranger who was trying to break up the fight, and her fist cracked against the Duros’ hard torso. She wrenched her other arm back and chased down Elysse once more, but she had to fight off grasping limbs from all angles now. Instinct took over and she lashed out wherever she could, slowly progressing in the direction that Elysse had managed to slink away in.

                It was no good against so many though; she saw Elysse’s reproachful indigo glare one last time before her quarry slipped away into the crowd, and then heard Cassian’s voice approaching through the maelstrom. She guiltily thought of his injured ribs and paused her attack to turn. That was enough for those around her to tighten their defensive wall: someone she didn’t see decided that she’d be easier to subdue if she were just unconscious, and Jyn couldn’t even protest as the market around her faded abruptly into darkness, and her baton slipped from her fingers.

…

Liana smirked; she didn’t once believe that she could give the protection that others thought she offered. But sometimes she liked to pretend to be that person. She removed Elysse’s flight cap and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “Stop worrying. You’re the fastest slicer in the galaxy,” she turned from the bed, checking over the power packs for her various blasters. The space was small, and Elysse’s nervous gaze on her back was like a third presence in the room.

                “This is the last one, though? Right? We’ve been on Corulag for too long. We need to keep moving.”

                Liana shook her hair back with a shrug. “We’ll see. I want that tyrant to learn a real lesson this time. I want him to be hurting for _years_ , not just until the next supply run.”

                Elysse drew her legs up onto the bed and curled her arms around them. Liana glanced back and grimaced at the glum set to her face. True, she’d not had many models to follow, but she’d always got the impression that relationships were meant to be a pleasant distraction from the insistent, ever-present fear and danger of the rest of the galaxy. Her patience for digging into another’s emotional turmoil ran thin quickly: if she could keep all her doubts and fears to herself, then why in the Force couldn’t everyone else? That was what Staven and Saw had taught her.

                She suppressed a sigh and pulled her vest and jacket on, grabbing a datapad and moving to the door.

                “Liana, wait.”

                Her jaw clenched, but she lowered her hand from the access panel and turned. “What is it, Elysse?”

                “I just … I have a bad feeling about this one.”

                Liana snorted, taking a cruel satisfaction in the way Elysse flinched. “Right. Did ‘the Jedi’ tell you something was up? We’ve scoped it all out. We’ve planned it. We’re supplied and we’re informed, and the Imperials are stupider and more complacent than Gamorrean customs officials.”

                Elysse’s dark eyes looked up at her pleadingly. She wanted to believe Liana; didn’t they always, for some unknown reason?

                Liana straightened her back and considered the warmth of the room; the smell of two bodies that she was getting uncomfortably used to; Elysse’s soft, dark lips and clever, accomplished hands. Maybe she should offer a conciliatory gesture. Liana lent down and cupped Elysse’s face in one palm, kissing her lingeringly this time.

                When she pulled away to see the same troubled expression, a flash of annoyance rose in her. “What do you want me to say?” Liana said sharply, snapping back to stand with her arms folded.

                Elysse looked at her hands, picking at her chewed nails. But her voice was firmer than before when she spoke. “I know you’re nervous too. I know you think this mission is risky. I know you want to do it because you don’t think we’ve made enough of a difference here; but you’re terrified of dying, Liana, and I see it, and I wish you’d talk to me about it instead of … keeping me out.”

                Liana’s muscles tensed. Her fingers dug into her folded arms and she ground her teeth together. “That’s nice,” she finally managed to sneer. “You think you know all this? That the fact I let you stay in my bunk every other night means you somehow understand me, or that I owe you something?”

                “Yes!” Elysse’s eyes took on a fire and a fervour that Liana hadn’t seen in them before. “You want to push me away now, and then after the mission, assuming there _is_ an after the mission, you’ll act as though you’d never had a care or a doubt in the galaxy. And I’m sick of it, I want you to let me in.”

                Liana was revolted by the fear that Elysse’s words raised in her. She returned to the doorway. “And _I_ want you out of this room by the time I’m back. I’ll find myself a new slicer for this job; you can get out now, as you have such a ‘bad feeling’ about things.”

                The attack was successful; Elysse just gaped at her, speechless, and Liana left the room.

                When Elysse insisted on staying with them for that last job, perhaps Liana should have been suspicious. Perhaps she should have handed Elysse in before she could do so to Liana. But all the while, as she tried to keep her mind on the mission, she was distracted by her empty room, and a gnawing, rising self-loathing. She didn’t have the heart to make Elysse leave her team as well as her bed, and guilt pursued guilt as she thought how weak Saw would think she was now; as she reminded herself that he _had_ seen how weak she was, and it was why he’d left her behind.

                When the stormtroopers surrounded her, Liana knew it was Elysse who had told them, because she knew Elysse had deserved her vengeance. Liana didn’t once consider the possibility that Elysse herself might have been left without a choice, ambushed as she proceeded to position, that bad feeling dogging her mind like her Imperial pursuers. The Imperials liked Liana to think that Elysse had offered her information willingly; it made Liana fight back harder, which let them retaliate harder, which was precisely what the Imperial governor liked to see.

                Only very deep down the well of Jyn Erso’s subconscious, in a murky place that she’d forget about on waking, did she acknowledge that Elysse Cezout would not have sold her out to the Empire if she’d been given any choice about the situation. It was there that her anger at Elysse hid its real source: a tangled knot comprised of the fears of a young girl alone at the bottom of a cave, of a child growing up amongst the brutal cynicism of the Partisans, and the teenager who’d been left to fend for herself in a vast and bewilderingly cruel galaxy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's hoping no one minds a bit of bi-Jyn; nor that anyone thinks I've made some evil, treacherous queer character here. Elysse might not make it back into the present story after they leave Terminus, but I'd like to come back to her, and she's not meant to be evil and treacherous at all. I love all my characters, except the Imperials ;-)
> 
> The turn taken in this chapter was inspired by me accidentally re-reading a bit of the novelisation when Jyn's beaten up by Staven in the Partisans, and the consequent thought that: yup, everyone would be super-messed up if they survived Scarif. But sometimes I forget just how messed up Jyn was to begin with.


	25. Chapter 25

The atmosphere in the cantina around the corner from Caascii Market wasn’t much clearer than it was anywhere else on the planet, but at least the alcohol fumes cut through the dusty air in a way that was almost refreshing. Cassian ordered a weak local beer and a shot of something that would wake the dead from the passing serving droid.

                He’d managed to get Jyn’s unconscious form out of the market with some help from other patrons who were curious, rather than hostile to fights breaking out between stalls. He’d even got a good deal on the antennae they needed; the Rodian who owned the stall Jyn had been at was delighted than drama had finally come to his own humble corner of the market. Apparently fights were more common at the antiques stalls and those selling old flight computers.

                Her head lolled awkwardly on the scuffed back of the booth he’d chosen, and a sullen green bruise was forming around one corner of her lips. Purple clouds ringed one of her eyebrows, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Cassian decided to reach out and wipe at the blood on her hairline with the edge of his sleeve. She frowned and twitched her head away at the touch, but her eyes remained closed.

                The droid returned with the two drinks, and Cassian rolled the shot of viscous pink liquid under Jyn’s nose.

                She jerked again, her face crumpling in disgust and her hands coming up in open-palmed defence.

                “Enough, _enough_! I’m awake,” she screwed her eyes tight shut before forcing them to open. Despite her revolted expression, she took the glass from him and brought it to her nose again. “Gods, what in the galaxy is this?”

                “Not even sure it’s from this galaxy,” he shrugged, taking a sip of his own drink.

                Jyn knocked the shot back without any further hesitation and wiped her mouth, groaning as she caught the bruising there.

                “Frag. Frag, frag, frag. Why is she here? Of all places…” she flopped back against the booth’s padding again, glaring furiously at the table.

                Cassian opened his mouth to comment, but she waved a hand. “Oh don’t. I know you’ve read my file.”

                He beckoned the serving droid across again and started to order Jyn a beer.

                “No — I’ll have another of whatever that was,” she snapped.

                He picked at the scruffy label on his bottle for a moment, then sighed and fixed her with an impatient look. “Your file doesn’t exactly narrow down the possibilities, Jyn.”

                She folded her arms, but relented. “Elysse. She was part of my team for a few hits. Corulag was the last one.”

                She knew he’d remember it if he’d read it, so didn’t offer any more details. Cassian rifled through his recollections, unnerved as he did so by how along ago Operation Fracture already seemed. Corulag — she’d been caught for the last time by the Imperial ruler there; trying to blow up his weapons and steal his ship; or vice versa. Liana Hallik had been her final alias, and she’d held onto it through whatever the local garrison had thrown at her, ending up at the dead end that was Wobani labour camp when Corulag had grown bored of her. But as for her team, he remembered little; one of them had sold her out, and no attempt had been made to break her from the jail on Corulag; Elysse, he supposed, was behind this.

                “Why’d she turn on you?” he asked as the serving droid returned.

                Jyn span the little glass around in the pools of sticky liquid that decorated the table top. She watched the liquid in it lap at its edges, and when a drop splashed free, she raised her thumb to her lips and sucked the alcohol off it. Without looking at him, she finally drew the words from herself: “she wanted to be something she wasn’t. She misunderstood. Badly.” Jyn’s thumb trailed along her lower lip as she continued to frown at her drink. Then, as if only just recognising her own touch, she blinked and flinched, lowering both hands to the glass again.

                “Didn’t think she’d ever throw in with Imperials though,” she added, finally raising the shot glass with a rueful expression.

                Before drinking it, she stretched her lips into a grim smile and met Cassian’s eyes. “Boring, isn’t it? You can go from one end of the galaxy to the other, and what motivates people is always the same: deals gone bad, and relationships gone worse.”

                He gave a diplomatic nod and drank his beer. “I guess. But you forgot fear.”

                “Yeah,” Jyn snorted, sipping more delicately at the second shot. “I didn’t make her fear me enough.”

                After a few moments’ silence in which they both drank, it seemed impolitic to interrupt her reverie. Therefore, Cassian did not mention that Elysse had just entered the cantina they currently occupied. He did allow himself a frown at the fact that she was flanked by two bulky Weequay, though. She gave the dark room a diffident scan, then continued on, weaving through tables to reach a booth at the back of the room. When she got there, she remained standing, talking to someone that Cassian couldn’t see.

                “Let’s get back to the ship when you’ve finished that,” he told Jyn quietly.

                “Doesn’t Bodhi need anything else?”

                “We’ll come back later, or tomorrow. At least we know where we’re looking now.”

                Jyn regarded him for a moment, then turned and surveyed the bar. Her instincts were too close to his; fooling her was something he supposed he ought not to bother with. She turned back to him with a hiss. “She’s _here_.”

                “Leave it, Jyn,” he began. He could see rage tremble in her limbs again, and he risked placing a hand over her fist where it lay on the table.

                She looked at it in surprise, but through the hurt on her face acceptance won through. “Right. Let’s go.”

                As they wove their way to the exit, leaving a few creds behind in the puddles of stale booze on the table, Cassian noticed Elysse turn slightly to follow them with her gaze. At the table, mostly concealed by her form, he saw the long snout of a Kubaz, and his skin prickled as he wondered what sort of team Elysse ran with now, here on Terminus.


	26. Chapter 26

“ _No_ , you should wait here.”

                He was aware of the effect: the firmer he tried to sound, the more she ground her jaw and fought back. “Why? You think I can’t control myself?”

                “I _don’t_ _care_. It’s not about control, it’s about the fact that she’ll be on the look-out for you now.”

                “So what if she is? I’ll snap her like —“

                “Come on — she’s not working alone here, whatever she’s doing! She knows you’re an escapee from an Imperial prison — what if she’s already looking for the highest bidder to return you to?”

                “Then we’re all in trouble and we need to get those parts and get out of here _now_.”

                “No. _I’m_ going to get those parts. You’re staying here, out of sight.”

                “You’re not in command here!”

                “No. I can’t make you stay. But if you leave, and something happens, and you’re not back, then we’re not coming looking for you.”

                She narrowed her eyes and bit her swollen lip. She was inches from him, fury driving up from her green irises. He could smell the sweet pink alcohol she’d had in the cantina; it mingled with the scents of dust and sweat and something else, something innate to her that he couldn’t name.

                The rest of the crew stood around them, affecting various attitudes from nonchalance through to panic. The enormity of the bluff he’d just made was hard to keep hold of, but Cassian blocked out the way Chirrut was regarding him cannily and focussed on the infuriating presence in front of him.

                Jyn’s lip curled. He saw what she wanted to say: _You wouldn’t dare._

_No. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if we left you here._

                “Fine,” she snarled, spinning angrily from him. “Do it yourself.”

                The victory left him cold. He made sure that his heavy breathing didn’t show as he turned to Bodhi, and regretted the shocked uncertainty in the pilot’s eyes.

                “Um. Right. Well, it should be easy enough to carry. I just need a few bits and pieces. Cable, mostly. I can fix the hull by cannibalising bits of the hold’s interior.”

                Cassian took the proffered datapad and nodded, running a hand through his hair to try and force softness back into his features. “Thanks. I know where I’m going this time; I’ll be back within a standard hour.”

                “Baze or Chirrut could always go with you …” Bodhi began, trailing off as Baze shook his head.

                “It’s okay Bodhi. Let him have the space. It’s a one-man job now we know what we’re after and where it is,” Baze watched Cassian check his weapon once more and heft an empty satchel onto his shoulder.

                Cassian nodded his gratitude and strode back down the access ramp, squinting against the heat, noise and dust of Terminus’ atmosphere once more. He was still uneasy about Elysse’s meeting with the Kubaz; the governors of Terminus kept the gangs out, but the planet still had its non-elected grandees after all, and he didn’t trust the governors not to turn a blind eye to the occasional deal with the Empire if it granted them peace in the meantime.

                The light in the market was dimming by the time he reached the Rodian’s stall for the second time that day. Some vendors were packing up, and a night-time crowd was moving in to take their place. But the Rodian was still there. Unfortunately, Cassian found him much harder to deal with this time; the publicity he’d gained when people had crowded near to watch Jyn brawl had not been long-lasted. He offered a generous discount if Cassian would start another fight with some passing Gran.

                Cassian rolled his eyes and declined. He offered to take his business elsewhere, and the Rodian invited him warmly to do so, gesturing at the increasing number of empty stalls around them.

                By the time he emerged from the market with all the supplies that Bodhi needed, their cred account was looking forlorn and Cassian’s mouth was parched and his tongue felt like a sand-dune. He cursed when he noticed how late it had grown and hurried back through the streets to the landing bay.

                “Cassian!” Bodhi waved down from the top of the ship as he approached. Something in the other man’s tone made him pause, a chill running down his spine. “Cassian, where’s Jyn?”

                “What do you mean?” he dropped the satchel at the foot of the landing ramp, already stepping back from the ship in preparation to return to the city.

                “You were gone longer than you said you’d be. Wild rancors couldn’t have stopped her. She thought something had happened.”

                “All the supplies are there,” Cassian pointed to the bag, not waiting for Bodhi’s response as he turned and began a laboured jog back across the permacrete. The pain in his side made his face twist involuntarily, so he slowed to a brisk walk when he reached the alleys and streets again. He returned to the market, checked the cantina, and began an increasingly desperate patrol of the darkening streets surrounding the Caascii district.

                Panic was not usually something that affected him in the field; he needed to stay in control, to know what paths he’d covered and where he hadn’t yet checked. But as night overtook the city streets, something like despair started to creep over him. Doggedly, stubbornly, because he had no other option, he kept walking. Ships continued to roar back and forth above him, ion engines in red and blue and orange sweeping their pale light across the grim alleyways like an ongoing meteor shower.

                He was skirting the edges of the city now, following the walls of compounds and warehouses that backed onto thick forest. Some alleys simply ended at the treeline, their flattened paths crumbling into chaos as roots pushed against the fringes of the city.

                At first, he thought the persistent whistling that cut through the sounds of engines was a local bird. But his annoyance at the distraction eventually clicked into recognition and he berated himself for not seeing it sooner: it was the Kubaz. Or _a_ Kubaz, at least.

                The compound he was outside had the same smooth grey walls as the rest of the city; no buttes of red outcrop leaned against its exterior. Cassian sighed as he looked up. He couldn’t scale it; not without any sort of handhold, and not with his ribs the way they were. Instead, he returned to the forest’s edge and pushed his way in, tracking the compound’s wall through the foliage.

                He hauled himself into a tree with flakey, splintered bark, gritting his teeth against the pain in his torso. It wasn’t Scarif. It wasn’t going to be enough to stop him.

                From a sturdy branch, he was able to see into a large, clear courtyard below. In it was a small gathering of people: the Kubaz, two Weequay, a handful of other goons, and two women: Elysse and Jyn.

                Only the Kubaz’s voice had carried to him beyond the compound, but now he could make out the words of the others.

                One of the goons was translating for the Kubaz. “Look, we just want to know how a life sentence on an Imperial labour camp comes to such an early end! Did you sell information? Yourself? Did someone think _Liana Hallik_ was important enough to bust out of jail?”

                Jyn’s head tilted; he could imagine her rolling her eyes. Her hands were in stun-cuffs behind her back, and she shifted her footing often, as though standing was uncomfortable.

                “You once thought so, Elysse,” she shrugged.

                “Yeah, and I’ll never make that mistake again,” the other woman sneered. Her stance and expression were stiff though. Cassian frowned; her words were carefully aggressive, but he thought she looked nervous. She looked like the contacts he’d had to win round; those with a lot to say, but who were too scared to say it.

                The Kubaz put a hand out to restrain Elysse, and whistled another question.

                “You should realise the severity of the situation. We have access to all the manifests on this planet; we’ll find your transport soon enough, and then we’ll know what brings you here and who might be looking for you. So, Whirizz asks once more: what is the given name of Liana Hallik?”

                Jyn shifted again and shrugged, trying to roll her shoulders. “Force knows; Liana Hallik’s long dead.”

                Cassian tensed as the Kubaz gestured to one of the Weequay. The Weequay lifted a stun prod and brought it down hard against Jyn’s shoulder. She gave a cry and dropped to her knees as the connection was maintained, but the sound turned to a roar of anger. He swore to himself as he watched: she leaned into the blow, even as her muscles convulsed. With an enormous amount of effort, she coiled her legs under her again and launched herself at the Weequay, knocking his bulky form to the ground with the element of surprise and beginning to drive a boot into his side repeatedly.

                The chaos around her soon resolved itself, and the second Weequay grabbed her by the stun cuffs that held her, pulling her back from his comrade as Elysse and a few others drew their blasters.

                She breathed heavily, and spat on the ground. Even though Cassian couldn’t see her face, Elysse’s expression was informative enough: the woman’s eyes were round with horrified realisation. When Jyn looked up at her, Elysse even took a step back, her blaster hand shaking.

                Slowly, quietly, he drew his own blaster from his hip holster and reached inside his jacket for its sniper attachments. He screwed the weapon together smoothly, efficiently, his eyes all the time fixed on the group in the compound. The Kubaz was speaking again, but Jyn rolled her head, stretching her neck side to side and not even feigning interest in what was being said to her.

                Breathing the slightly clearer forest air, Cassian settled into the comfortable world he saw through his scope. The targeting laser was off; subtlety was as key to his work as accuracy. Instead, muscle memory guided him. Three, two, one …

_… One, two, three_. His shots hit their targets: two of the armed goons, and Elysse’s blaster hand. She screamed as she dropped the weapon, and Jyn ran to claim it, scrambling awkwardly with her hands behind her back. Cassian breathed again: this time his shots hit the two Weequay and the remaining thug. Only Elysse, the Kubaz, and Jyn were left. Jyn turned side on to show the other two the weapon she held, and stepped away from them before she glanced over in the direction of the tree-line. Now, Cassian flicked the targeting laser on, and let the beam linger on the Kubaz’s chest as Jyn retreated towards the wall below him.

                “Wait, Liana!” Elysse called out.

                Jyn didn’t even glance back. Her pale face was broken up by the blood around her mouth and nose, and by the gleam of her eyes as she looked up at him. “If this is how you leave people behind, I could stand to be left behind more often than I thought,” she said quietly.

                “Hold your hands away from your back,” he replied. When she did so, turning away from him once more, he dropped his aim to the stun cuffs, squeezing the trigger gently to fire a bolt of plasma through their linking mechanism.

                Jyn shook her hands free, wincing at the heat on her wrists. She stuffed the blaster she’d obtained into the back of her belt and began to climb a decorative trellis. When she reached the top of the wall she straddled it and peered into the treeline at Cassian. “Are you going to finish the job?”

                He looked the Kubaz up and down through his scope. Power vacuums were troublesome affairs, but if they left him alive, this Whirizz would only be rooting through the manifests at the first opportunity. Cassian pulled the trigger again, and the Kubaz crumpled to the ground midway through an alarmed whistle of protest.

                Elysse flinched and took a few steps in their direction, despite the targeting laser that Cassian let play on her for a moment. He saw plenty through the lens of the rifle; apology and explanation forming a potent cocktail.

                “Last shot’s not mine to take,” he told Jyn, beginning the process of dismantling his rifle once more.

                She muttered something and looked down into the compound. She retrieved Elysse’s blaster and pointed it at the other woman for a long, quiet moment. Cassian looked up only once; he saw Elysse standing transfixed in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by bodies and trying to look brave for Jyn.

                Then Jyn lowered the blaster and fired a sullen warning shot at the ground by Elysse’s feet. She lifted her right leg over the compound wall and dropped smoothly into the scrub below. When Cassian joined her she offered a messy, relieved grin and moved sharply towards him and then away again, as though she’d considers embracing him in thanks.

                “You were late,” she said eventually as they picked their way back through the city.

                “I had to haggle. Our Rodian friend was hoping for a follow-up to the earlier spectacle.”

                The main routes had never really emptied after the market had closed, and Cassian was glad that the darkness and bustle made Jyn’s battered features less obvious. He drew his comm out. “Bodhi? Yes. I’m fine. Jyn’s fine. I think we’re going to stop by for a drink again. Yeah, somewhere different this time. We’ll bring supplies back to the ship.”

                Jyn let him steer her into a large bar close to the landing pads. It was modern and simpler in décor than the cantina; neon lighting and chrome surfaces, cleaner and easier to clean than the old word ‘charm’ of the other place. Jyn’s footsteps were heavy, and she leant back a little against the flat of his palm on her back. The warmth he felt from her was addictive; wholly reassuring; something he didn’t want to give up even as he pressed her to sit on a low stool against the bar’s back wall.

                Two tall, cold jars of beer were brought swiftly, and Jyn coughed as she swilled her first mouthful around. “Urgh,” she groaned, running her tongue over her teeth and gingerly pressing her fingers to her jaw. “I hope this is strong enough to be antiseptic.”

                They were halfway through their drinks, and she’d rubbed some of the blood off her face before the image of her body jerking under the Weequay’s stun prod resurfaced in Cassian’s mind and he had to repress a shudder.

                Jyn was tired, but the movement wasn’t lost on her; she eyed him carefully under hooded lids. “What?”

                He didn’t know why it bothered him; he’d seen worse, he’d done worse, he’d had worse done to him. But something about her furious snarl, about the way she’d fought her way back up from the ground … he’d watched with an uncomfortable familiarity, feeling, _knowing_ what adrenaline could make you do even when you thought you were spent … but it was suffused with awe, as though such a self-evidently pointless act could have inspired anyone else to resist, had they only seen it.

                He settled for a shrug, a small shake of the head as he regarded his drink. “Taking a hit from a stun prod like that. It’s ... it reveals more than words in a file.”

                Jyn tilted her head uncomfortably and raised a hand to the point where her neck curved down to her left shoulder. Her expression tightened as her fingers rummaged under the material of her collar, tracing out the blisters that had no doubt formed there. “Yeah. Elysse realised that was her fault too. They thought it was good sport in the Corulag garrison.”

                She took a swig from her drink and offered him a game smile; most of the blood had been washed off her teeth by the beer. “If that’s the only skill I have, at least it’s a good one to have in a flaming, sith-cursed galaxy like this one.”

                He couldn’t hold her playful stare; it was like turning head-on towards a star; something destructive, imploding in on itself in bursts of light and heat that transcended normal spectra. Even with the hints of red on her teeth still, even with the blood crusting around her nose and mouth, even with her hair dusty and tangled and everything about her crying out for rest, for sleep, for recovery. Even then, he felt the urge to follow her to the ends of the universe, whatever star-struck lunacy that entailed.

                Cassian gulped his beer.

                Jyn just watched him. She hesitated, her mouth open, then gripped his hand with one of hers. “Thank you. For coming back.”

                He offered a self-deprecating laugh, but let incredulity colour his reply. “You didn’t believe what I said?”

                “I … no. Of course not,” now it was her turn to make a nervous sound that might have been intended as knowing mirth. “But when it’s happened so many times before, you do start to expect it.”

                “I shouldn’t have said that,” he turned his hand under hers, squeezing back on her hold.

                “I wouldn’t have stayed if you hadn’t.”

                “And then you wouldn’t have had to chase after me; and then we’d already be back at the ship right now, waiting for Bodhi to finish the repairs.”

                “True,” she murmured. “Right now, though, I think I’m quite glad we ended up here.” She wouldn’t meet his surprised look when she’d finished speaking, but took a deep drink and fidgeted in her seat, her grip on his hand tightening as he continued to stare at her.

                They finished their drinks in tense, but companionable silence, and then Cassian ordered enough bottles and freshly prepared food to placate the rest of the crew. Jyn insisted on carrying the supplies, even though he tried to argue that his broken ribs were really no worse than her singed collarbone. Still bickering amicably over their injuries, they strolled back towards the ship, and Cassian offered Bodhi his most sheepish grin in apology.

                “I used to think it was weird how little drama I had in my life,” the pilot huffed, cleaning the grease off his hands with an old piece of cloth. “But now I see that it’s just that all the drama in the galaxy gravitates towards you two.”

                The ship’s repairs were almost complete, and the vapour trails of vessels coming and going above them continued to brighten the night sky. Cassian sat with the rest of the crew of _Rogue One_ on the landing ramp of their ship, eating something that wasn’t a protein bar, and drinking bottles of local alcohol, and feeling almost like he belonged in his own skin.


	27. Chapter 27

“ _Rogue One_! I am glad to hear from you,” Admiral Raddus blinked rapidly and let his large mouth gape open with joy.

                “Sorry it took so long, Admiral,” Jyn smiled back at the holoscreen, glancing up at the crew clustered around the back of her chair. “Things are hotting up over Ithor.”

                “We’ve heard rumours,” Raddus nodded. “What’s the situation?”

                “We can confirm the presence of an Imperial garrison with a qaz-class star destroyer,” Cassian reported. “The troopers are armed, and they’re searching pilgrims to the sacred gardens. We don’t think they know exactly what they’re looking for, but as usual, the Empire is hoping that intimidation will get answers eventually.”

                “They know they’re looking for Jedhans ….” Baze growled.

                “So between the stormtroopers and the pilgrims, how are the Ithorians responding?” Raddus steepled his clawed flippers in front of him, narrowing his yellow eyes.

                Jyn gestured at Cassian to answer again. He told Raddus about their meeting with Mowna and about her message; Jyn forwarded the file to _Home One_ ’s computers as he talked. Raddus grumbled thoughtfully at the news that Ithor might have been preparing to turn to the Rebellion.

                “It would be a significant boon, if they did come over to us,” he mused. “But it could be a drain on our fleet to defend such a defenceless planet.”

                “Sir, they’re likely to be in trouble whether or not they join the Rebellion,” Jyn added, hoping that the Admiral wasn’t looking for ways out of committing to help Ithor.

                Raddus rubbed his large, jowelly chin. “Gial and Crix are aware of your mission now, and I must tell you that they have been as eager for a report as I have. I think with Mowna Naduun’s message we might be able to convince the council to act on this. And in the meantime, you are still chasing after your refugees?”

                “Yes, sir. We have a lead; our next destination is the Oseon system.”

                “Oseon! Hm. Well, I expect ongoing reports from you. This mission has been sanctioned, but command is keeping a close eye on it. Not least given the Princess’ continued absence.”

                “You haven’t heard from her?” Chirrut asked.

                “We have heard _of_ her,” Raddus made a gravelly noise of amusement. “She successfully extracted an enclave of Alderaanians from Naboo, right out from under Palpatine’s crooked nose!”

                The crew exchanged relieved laughter, and Jyn heard Bodhi mutter something about ‘not being the only crazies in the Rebellion’.

                Seriousness returned to Raddus’ voice. “In the meantime, I must tell you that the events since Operation Fracture may have a more significant impact on the structure of the Alliance.

                “A number of us are hoping to convince Chancellor Mothma to take on the emergency powers granted to chancellors of the Republic; if she had the final say over crucial missions, we would not have struggled with our disagreements over Scarif so much, and we would suffer less uncertainty now. As you can imagine, however, Mon is reluctant to agree to wielding such power …”

                Cassian laughed ruefully. “Good luck, Admiral.”

                The file from Mowna had transferred successfully, and Jyn signed off following Raddus’ cordial dismissal. The crew dispersed throughout the ship and Bodhi took the pilot’s seat again. He turned the ship away from Terminus, checking the navicomputer. “Only two standard days’ travel!” he announced breezily.

                Jyn raised an eyebrow. “‘Only.’”

                “Would have been longer without Rhinzi’s advice — he knows exactly how close we can afford to go to a few obstacles between here and the Outer Rim, let me shave nearly an extra day off the travel time.”

                “And what do we think we’ll find when we finally get there?”

                Bodhi looked down at the console and shrugged minutely. “Who knows? I hope we find them.” He laughed a quiet, hollow laugh. “I hope they didn’t destroy themselves trying to get through the Oseon asteroid field in a transport ship.”

                “We’ll find them,” Jyn told him, finding the confidence that he needed to hear. “They’ll be there.”

                Once the ship was settled into hyperspace, Jyn stood and stretched, relishing the pops and twinges in her joints as she pulled her arms up and back. Her collarbone fizzed with angry heat even under the bacta patch, but she found the creased edges of the patch more annoying than the familiar touch of the injury. It had felt good to fight again; she’d been wondering whether she’d left Elysse alive in the hope that she’d run into her again at a future point; would have an excuse to fight her again, whenever, wherever that might be.

                In the hold, the others had settled in for the long jump. Chirrut and Baze sat talking quietly with Rhinzi, reminiscing about Jedha, swapping experiences, the two Guardians telling Rhinzi what changes he’d missed, and Rhinzi telling them what the Jedi Temple on Coruscant had once looked like in all its glory.

                Cassian was folded on the flight chair behind them, his boots kicked off and feet up on the seat next to him. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t yet asleep; Jyn knew he heard every word spoken by the Jedhans in front of him. A datapad lay on his knees, balanced in place by his folded arms.

                She sat in the row of chairs opposite him and removed her own boots before mirroring his pose. Jyn smiled as music began to drift up from the cockpit; at the pilot’s seat, Bodhi liked to find the strangest broadcasters from the Outer Reaches and listen to the weird, vast array of sounds that the galaxy had to offer. As she understood it, the Empire hadn’t encouraged any sort of engagement with cultures beyond its own, and now Bodhi was absorbing all that he could of worlds beyond the galaxy he’d experienced so far.

                She closed her eyes and thought back to the stark cabin they’d shared for a few long days on _Home One_. How, one night, she’d found herself remembering the others she’d fought with and all their ticks and quirks. She’d not had much to compare her new companions with back then, but now details were resolving themselves: Bodhi’s knee twitching involuntarily when he grew impatient with a briefing, or a conversation where he wanted to speak but couldn’t. The way Baze ran his fingers through his beard when he had a good hand in sabacc, and the way Chirrut had an array of smiles to suit every person individually. Even Cassian had habits, though Jyn knew he’d not admit to them; sometimes, she caught him looking up expectantly, searching for Kay’s response to a situation he wouldn’t comment on first. She suspected he had an old injury where his left shoulder met his chest, too; with his arms folded, he’d rub the spot uneasily with his knuckles when he concentrated on something.

                Elysse had chewed the strap of that disgusting old flight helmet she wore. Jyn tried to shove the intruding image away; all she’d ever done was make it clear to the woman that she wasn’t any more special than anyone else Jyn had taken to her bunk. And for someone who Jyn intended to be quite insignificant to her, Elysse had ensured she’d always have a place in Jyn’s memory as the woman who’d handed her over to a labour camp death sentence.

                Indignation roiled in Jyn’s chest again; she thought of all the good her raid on Corulag could have done but for one person’s hurt feelings. But her fury was mixed with grim self-appraisal; if she’d not gone to Wobani, would the Rebellion ever have found her, successfully managed to lure her into taking part in Operation Fracture? Maybe that was why she’d spared Elysse. And to remind her that Jyn really didn’t care enough her enough to take that level of vengeance.

                But the heat rising in her cheeks belied her nonchalance. The encounter had shone a light into a part of Jyn that she’d hoped she’d left behind; something that made her want to fold in on herself, to cover it over and push her shame back into the tight, angry ball she usually kept it in. She was something else now, wasn’t she? A hero of the Rebellion, or something like that.

                Elysse had barely spoken since the Weequay guards had slapped their stun cuffs on Jyn’s struggling, aching arms, but her initial approach had been cautious, and cordial.

                What had she said?

                She just wanted to talk. Questions about Wobani.

                But Jyn sensed the guards flanking her, and instinct kicked in. Once she’d started fighting, she wasn’t going to stop until they made her. Elysse hadn’t even looked over when they’d knocked Jyn into unconsciousness, and when she came ‘round in the middle of that Kubaz’s compound, Elysse hadn’t been there.

                Through the ache in her skull, Jyn had just about registered the other woman’s uncertainty when she had arrived with the Kubaz and his questions. Elysse was holding something back; whatever she wanted, whether it was the same at whatever the Kubaz had wanted, she wouldn’t say. Doubt grew in Jyn; an uncomfortable nagging demand that she re-evaluate the easy assumptions she’d let herself make about Elysse.

                Jyn tamped down on the guilty questions again; it was done. She’d not been able to shoot at Elysse, and Elysse hadn’t been able to ask her whatever it was she wanted to ask. Terminus was far behind. She was as safe as she’d been in years, in a ship full of friends; people who didn’t fully know what she’d been before, who had only seen her rattle aimlessly from the loss of Saw, to the loss of her father, to a mission with an unambiguous, shining, _good_ goal; one that they had achieved. They’d not seen what she’d do to keep someone out, how quickly she’d leave people and planets behind if she felt she was getting too attached or complacent. Leave them behind before they could leave her behind; that was how she’d operated. They didn’t know how tired she was of constantly running.

                Her breathing had grown heavy as memories, recent and old, swam up behind her closed eyelids. She let them blink open, the joints in her hands whitening as her hands gripped her knees.

                On the row of seats opposite her, a pair of warm brown eyes watched every detail of Jyn’s movements. Cassian’s expression was closed and serious, and he didn’t look away when she met his gaze.

                “Okay?” he asked quietly.

                She tensed, and tried not to show it. “Yes,” the word returned, clipped and brittle.

                He studied her whilst she held her breath, keeping the thoughts that had crept in on her as hidden as she could. Finally, he dipped his chin a little. He didn’t look convinced; she didn’t feel that her response had been convincing. But he understood well enough that she didn’t want to answer. He leaned his head back against the bulkhead again and closed his eyes pointedly.

                Jyn let out the air she’d been holding on to and tried to relax the rest of her body. She uncurled her fingers from her knees and rubbed the knuckles of her right hand, letting herself observe Cassian in turn now that his attention wasn’t on her.

                He was a few years older than her, she guessed, and sometimes looked older still when he was tired or annoyed. Now, he feigned peacefulness well; the skin between his eyebrows was smooth, and the only line she saw on his face was the dimple by his mouth, half-hidden by a perpetually scruffy moustache.

                As her thumb pressed over the rough, grazed skin on her knuckles, she let herself wonder how the textures of his face might compare. Softness interrupted by abrasive stubble, his hard, high cheek-bones and smooth, slightly too-long hair.

                Jyn’s lips twitched and she sighed, turning her face to the flight chair and forcing her eyes shut. She wrapped her hands around her shins again, her warm hands clinging to the rough material of her trousers. Her shoulders ached as she reached around her own body, but at least it kept her hands from each other; rather than sparking skin against skin, imagining that one set of fingers wasn’t her own, she felt the dust and grit of Terminus on her trousers, the material a stiff and inflexible armour.

                Seeing Elysse again had been an important reminder, she now convinced herself. Physical wants were one thing, but they only led to an emotional swamp; something she couldn’t traverse, that clung to her, threatening to sink her, drown her, absorb her into its depths. As comfortable as she was growing with the ship, with the crew, even with the idea that she was somehow a member of the Rebellion again now, fear covered her from time to time. It demanded that she justify to herself again and again what she was doing there, why she could trust these other battered strangers. If she felt some … affinity with one in particular, one who seemed to read her thoughts like a familiar holovid, who kept his own feelings under wraps and hinted at a past as full of war and loss as her own, well, she would just have to control her curiosity.

                Still, Jyn’s grip on her shins loosened, and she wrapped her arms close around her torso, her hands warm against her ribcage as she slipped into the light sleep of the practiced traveller. Memories of Elysse, of Codo, of others whose names she couldn’t quite forget, all gave way. She was somewhere warm, a small, dark space with cloying green light that flickered as the floors that sped past sent regular bursts of fresh, conditioned air across her cheeks. Her hands were flat on another’s ribs, gently holding him upright, against her. He smiled; it was so minute she thought that anyone else would have missed it in the pulsing, low light. It was private and knowing, and it told her that he recognised everything about her and yet wasn’t going anywhere. Jyn moved closer to him, returning the smile, shy and confused by the sensation of security and trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter aka someone needs to find Jyn a space therapist, but hey at least we get to perv on Cassian a bit?


	28. Chapter 28

The Oseon system was busy and colourful even from a distance. A blue star illuminated glittering fields of asteroids, whose larger bodies were continuously linked by the mining vessels zipping back and forth between the accessible edges of the field. The asteroids themselves tumbled on a bed of coloured gases: greens and blues thinly overlaying the depths of the field and whatever lay beyond it. Wisps and spirals of the gas clouds caught light from the bright star, shaped into illusory forms that gave the impression of movement to the whole vista.

                Threads of traffic added to this as they sparkled between the mining facilities and the star system’s small, inner planets. Only the seventh planet seemed quiet by comparison. Space stations formed an artificial ring around its deep green surface, but few ships travelled to or from it. Bodhi and Cassian steered _Rogue One_ in the direction of Oseon VII; Jyn and the rest of the crew were squeezed into the space behind their flight chairs, even Chirrut, whose eyes were half-closed as he basked in the light from Oseon’s star.

                Jyn’s eyes narrowed against the brightness of the system, even as the transparisteel viewport dimmed to protect them from the intense radiation. If a ship full of Alderaanian and Jedhan refugees had passed through here, she hoped there would be someone who knew about it on Oseon VII. The system was well beyond Imperial control; it was dominated by numerous commercial interests, with mining and tourism alternating as and when the star, Oseon, breathed its curious Flamewind over the surrounding planets. This happened once a standard year, bathing the Oseon system in a rainbow of colourful radiation that stopped space travel for parsecs around it.

                It was hard to imagine such a sight over all the riches already displayed in front of them. The space stations around Oseon VII were well-maintained, sleek and reflective, although now, outside the tourist season, few ships docked at them. Jyn’s eyes roved over the data on the console in front of Cassian: it confirmed that none of these could be the transport they were looking for. Rhinzi had told them what he remembered: the woman organising them had claimed she’d have access to a passenger liner large enough for a few hundred people. These weren’t unusual in the Oseon system in the time leading up to a Flamewind, but Jyn wondered how much attention they might attract at any other period.

                Once they’d set the _Rogue One_ down in Oseon VII’s scrupulously clean spaceport, they all disembarked. To save on their remaining credits they’d continue to use the ship as a base, but first they were to spread out and cover the capital’s bars and information hubs, gathering information — as subtly as possible — on any unusual occurrences or visitors to the system. Bodhi and Rhinzi would cover the planet’s tourist sites and museums. Bodhi didn’t need to act in order to convince others that he desperately wanted to know about every ship that had ever been seen in the system, whilst Rhinzi’s knowledge of deep-space obstacles ensured that his enthusiasm about the vagaries of the asteroid field — and anything that might have entered it and not come out — would be genuine.

                Baze and Chirrut would check the bars, much to Baze’s delight. They’d reasoned that Chirrut’s half-realised abilities with the Force would stand a better chance of letting them unearth lies and withheld information if the faculties of those they were talking to were already affected by alcohol.

                Jyn and Cassian were left with the planet’s tourist markets. As they walked together, Jyn reflected on the easy, unanimous decisions that had paired the crew, and wondered whether she and Cassian should each have been with one of the more vulnerable members of the group, in case there was any trouble to be found on Oseon VII.

                But it was difficult to worry too much in the still, dry sunlight that filtered through the planet’s thick atmosphere. It was too hot for her jacket, so she walked with it slung over a shoulder, hooked on two fingers. Cassian was in his grubby once-white shirt, his hands moving awkwardly between his hips and the place his blaster usually hung. They’d both decided to conceal their weapons, given the Oseon Tourism Board’s insistence on the planet’s safety; but they were armed nonetheless.

                As they progressed towards the city’s overpriced market quarter, Jyn noticed that they got a few more sidelong glances from other beings they passed; both of them had fading bruises and recent cuts on their faces, and their clothes had seen better days. She was torn between unease at how much they stood out, and the defiance that made her sneer at anyone who stared too long. Unfortunately, at the markets, no matter how many languages they tried, with how many different species, each vendor took them to be unworthy of their sales pitch; if they’d had some creds to wave around it might have helped, but Jyn’s pockets were empty, and she assumed Cassian wasn’t feeling any richer.

                Eventually, she tugged Cassian’s sleeve and led him to the edge of the stalls. “I’ve got an idea,” she murmured.

                He followed her silently, mild curiosity raising his eyebrows. Jyn led them across speeder-filled streets and down narrow alleys until they were on a route that ran parallel to the market but was considerably shabbier. It smelled of soap and disinfectant, and the hot air was humid here, with brown sludgy puddles edging the gutters. Choosing her mark, Jyn told Cassian to start questioning the bored-looking Askajian female who leant against the doorway of one of the nearest buildings. He recognised the plan without further elaboration, and split from her side in the dark lee of a sloping roof in order to greet the woman.

                As he spoke with her, Jyn wedged her body into the narrow gap between the Askajian’s building and its neighbour, and, scraping her body as quietly as she could along the brick surfaces, she came to a back yard hung with brightly coloured cloth. Identifying the driest items, Jyn plucked them from their lines, glancing through the building every so often to check that Cassian still held the laundress’ attention. Finally, she wrapped the clean clothes in a bundle within her own scruffy jacket and squeezed her way back through the passage. Her boot prints were evident in the soft mud, but she’d be too far away by the time her theft was noticed.

                She peered out into the street, scanning the open windows above her for any casual onlookers; none were to be seen. Many residents on Oseon VII seemed to prefer to sleep through the hot days, and the only activity in this particular street remained Cassian’s conversation with the Askajian woman. As Jyn slunk away into the shadows once more she saw him twitch ever-so-slightly in acknowledgement of the movement. Within a few minutes, he’d wrapped up the conversation and joined her.

                “You didn’t get any useful information whilst you were chatting, I take it?” she asked, leading him away from the launderers’ quarter through more winding pedestrian routes.

                He glanced distastefully at the bundle she clutched concealed in her jacket. “Perhaps. All she told me was that the vendors we tried can afford to be choosy, even out of season. But she also hinted that business was good; I think she was keeping something to herself.”

                Jyn eyed him. “The stuff she had on her lines certainly backs that up. Plenty of fancy fabrics…” She gestured with the bundle.

                Finally, Jyn spied what she was looking for at the end of another street, making for the isolated courtyard with its towering coniferous trees. She handed Cassian a set of stolen clothes and made her way into the shadiest spot beneath one of the trees. Few windows looked down on the court, as the trees would have blocked out the light and prevented anyone from seeing from one side of the small square to the other. Speedily, Jyn kicked her muddy boots off, removed her trousers and shirt, and drew on the deep blue … whatever it was she’d stolen.

                The shimmersilk didn’t really go with her heavy footwear, but it was long enough to hide the boots, at least. Jyn swore as she tried to work out what to do with the long ends of the fabric that fell from the low neckline of the robe, one trailing from above each shoulder. The bacta patch on her neck was exposed, along with the angry red skin around it. She flipped each piece of material over her shoulders, reaching back to catch them and cross them over, winding them around her neck and shoulders loosely, and finally finding enough left to wrap around her head and chin, too. It was precarious, but restrictive, and she thought she’d choke if any of the loops of cloth snagged as she passed through the town: the epitome of high fashion, she supposed, so impractical that you proved your wealth by the time it took you to go anywhere or do anything.

                As a final touch, she loosed her hair from its bun, raking her fingers through it until, unwashed as it was, it fell in a tangle of zig-zag almost-curls as it held the memory of having been tied back. She gathered up her own clothes and peered around the tree for Cassian.

                He stood with his back to her, keeping watch over the one alley that led to the court. His outfit was in a rich, blood-dark red, but Jyn scowled to see how much more comfortable it looked: straight-legged trousers and a simple, embroidered tunic with a dark belt. When she cleared her throat he half-turned, controlling himself to just one, seemingly nonplussed flick of his gaze up and down.

                They stashed their own clothes in the crook of a tree branch and cautiously began their return journey to the market. Jyn wasn’t sure either of them could have been said to have the idea first, but by the time they’d reached a section of the market, their arms were linked at the elbows. She lifted her chin and summoned as much haughty distaste as she could; it seemed to work. Despite the injuries still visible on their faces, it was their clothing that the vendors paid attention to.

                In between her grimacing attempts to seem interested in collections of cheaply powdered, mineral-encrusted ‘sculptures’ of the Flamewind and the asteroid field, Jyn gathered scraps of information. It was little better than the ground-down minerals used to replicate the effects of the natural crystals; the vendors wanted them to think that they had access to anything they wanted, so questions were met with vague, expansively hedging replies. Still, it seemed that the city had experienced trade from an unusual source recently; ‘ancient artefacts’ were referenced, and fine clothing, fine art.

                One stall-holder cunningly eyed Jyn’s bruised eyebrow after he’d appraised her outfit, and he gave her a toothy smirk. “Dangerous types on the streets these days, my good lady,” he nodded to Cassian too, his eyes not missing Cassian’s own injuries. “Newcomers arriving out of tourist season — it’s unheard of. We have to defend our plots well, can’t have the market adulterated with inauthentic products.”

                Jyn let her hold on Cassian’s arm tighten as they exchanged a glance. “Indeed. Does anyone know where these newcomers have arrived from?”

                The vendor grinned and waved the back of his hand through the air in blissful complacency. “Don’t you worry about it, my lady. You’ve reported the attackers to Oseon Security Services? Then they’ll be dealt with.” He leant forward conspiratorially, “I’ve heard their base is out on one of the extinct mines, deep in an asteroid. If that’s the case, an aerial assault will soon rid us of the problem.”

                As Jyn was about to ask another question, several things happened at once.

                The vendor’s eyebrows shot up and his gaze met something behind her. Cassian turned sharply, reaching for the vibroblade in his boot. Something touched the hem of the ridiculous dress Jyn wore, and a man’s voice called out from just over her shoulder.

                “Ah, the heritage of my planet sits ill on a thief!”

                A tall man with dark skin glared down at Jyn; the staff in his hand had hooked up the bottom edge of her dress, pulling its trailing length out of the dust to reveal her muddied boots.

                Making up excuses seemed pointless, so Jyn raised her fists. The man’s eyes widened and he stepped back; he was not prepared for a physical fight, despite his imposing presence. Jyn noticed now that Cassian hadn’t actually drawn his weapon; he put a steadying hand on her arm. Several more people were approaching them across the market: two men with identical, bland features and a grey-haired woman.

                The latter pushed Jyn’s assailant aside; she was wiry and fit, but she breathed heavily up at the dark-skinned man. “Marnoi, what is it?”

                “ _That_ ,” he pointed at Jyn’s clothing, “is the Alderaanian dress robe we left to be cleaned and repaired. This little thief drags our history through the mud.”

                Jyn felt her skin go to gooseflesh at the mention of Alderaan; after all their travels, had they managed to stumble across the survivors?

                The grey-haired woman finally turned to Jyn though, and her response was dramatic. Her hands flew to her mouth and her green eyes widened as the air left her body in a gasp that evoked a gut-punch. The word that she forced out came without enough breath, and from behind her hard-worked hands, but it made Jyn rock on the spot.

                “Lyra!”

                She tried to take a step back; the galaxy had ignored her for so long, why now did it keep dredging up her past wherever she went? This woman either knew one of Jyn’s older identities, or …

                The other woman lowered her shaking hands as the man, Marnoi, supported her. Her weather-beaten face had gone as pale as the blue star above them, but she’d managed to steady her breathing. “No. I’m sorry. You’re not her.” Her eyes were glassy with a swell of shocked tears, and Jyn felt an inexplicable pang of regret.

                “I’m sorry,” she said in return.

                The woman continued to look at her strangely. “What are you doing in that robe?”

                Jyn looked to Cassian for support, and they both turned sheepishly to the Alderaanians. “Maybe it’s best if we discuss this somewhere more private?” Cassian suggested, glancing uneasily at the crowds around them.

                The vendor who had previously been all sweetness and light now scowled at Jyn, and she was glad to move away from the newly suspicious market-place and find a tea parlour under the wide shady branches of the planet’s native conifers. When they’d explained where their own clothes were, the woman dispatched one of the twins with her to find them and return them.

                She never named herself, but she did say that she wasn’t Alderaanian. She was, however, the woman Rhinzi had spoken of, and she was slippery and cunning with all the information that Jyn and Cassian tried to access, even as they matched her by retaining every scrap of information about themselves.

                “Frankly, I think it’s you two that owe us some answers,” she shrugged, pouring tea. She kept darting looks at Jyn, her frown deepening.

                “We didn’t know this was Alderaanian heritage when we took it,” Jyn said awkwardly. “We just needed to blend in better.”

                The woman raised an eyebrow at this. “I’ll refrain from asking why, for now.” She sighed, sitting down and crossing her legs, bouncing the shin of the upper limb restlessly as she did so. “They were going to be sold anyway. We need the money. So, unless there’s a great big reward for catching a couple of petty thieves, I think we can settle this with the simple return of our property.”

                There was probably a fairly large reward to be had, not for two petty thieves, but for two of the Rebels involved in the attack on Scarif. Jyn fidgeted as she considered this, tugging at the fabric wrapped around her chin, and the woman relented and granted her a smile.

                “You’ve not got this wound properly,” she said, fussing maternally at the cloth and unwinding it as Jyn flinched at the touch. “It’s the right idea, but you’ve not …” she trailed off as Jyn’s chin and neck were freed from the cloth, and her kyber necklace also fell free.

                That necklace, she knew after much experience, was not something that strangers should be shown. Far too many people had far too good an idea of how valuable it was, and she was yet to meet any such interested parties who agreed that the best place for a kyber crystal was hidden around the neck of some scruffy street criminal. Her fists balled and she tensed, ready to stand, but something about the sadness on the woman’s face kept her still. Jyn tolerated the woman’s curiosity as she took the crystal in her hand and turned it, spotting the characters in aurebesh carved into one of its sides.

                As she read, Jyn covered the crystal with her hand possessively and took it back. “That’s mine,” she said, her throat dry. Why did she allow this stranger such dangerous interest?

                “You’re not Lyra,” the woman peered at her. Jyn pressed her lips tight and shook her head. Something was trying to surface in her mind, some justification for why she felt more comfortable than was sensible around this strange figure.

                “You’re Jyn,” the woman murmured it so softly, like she was coaxing some frightened creature from its hiding place. Jyn nearly fled at the next movement; whatever she’d expected, it had not been the woman’s arms widening to embrace her. The names of her family had always got her into trouble: hunted by Imperials, dumped by Saw, claimed by the Rebellion … all because she happened to bear the name ‘Jyn Erso’. But now … because of that name, someone was squeezing her close with the odd relieved sob.

                Jyn’s shoulders rose as she made herself small and unresponsive, until finally the woman noticed and released her, drawing her chair under her again and sitting close, her stare still piercing, penetrating Jyn’s uncomfortable body-language.

                “You don’t remember me?” She smiled ruefully.

                Jyn struggled to meet her eyes; to make herself examine her in more detail. Her skin was soft but crinkled with ravines around her eyes and nose; she was not as old as she’d first appeared, but had evidently lived a life outdoors. Her pale green-brown eyes were lively and shrewd, and freckles combined with her naughty smile to give her a girlish look, despite her silver-white hair. When Jyn looked at her, she thought of a place that was whiter than snow, punctured by deep caves darker than the black backdrop of space. Everything glittered in its own way, and some unremembered source of happiness tickled the edge of her imagination.

                Her lips moved as she tried to remember, but the memory was from so long ago, and the creeping illusion of some innocent, childish joy made her recoil from it. She looked away and shrugged.

                Concern now dominated the other woman’s face, and she rubbed Jyn’s shoulders with a firm, brisk touch. “Don’t worry. You were very little. And I never saw you when you left Coruscant. Your mother was my best friend. My name is Nari, Nari Sable,” she tried to cover the concern over with another friendly smile, and nodded at Cassian too.

                Jyn felt guilt puncture her at the mention of the name; she’d used Nari’s title too, in a far off, short-lived identity. Nari McVee. Her mother’s best friend and her nursery droid. Jyn cringed, heat rising to her cheeks at the naivety she’d once had the luxury to enjoy. She tried to form a wan smile for Nari, but it was swiftly covered by the turmoil of murky memories kicked up by the name.

                Jyn could barely concentrate on the rest of the conversation. Cassian talked to Nari, who continued to look over at Jyn and her untouched tea, worry now open on her features once more.

                Cassian skirted the details of their identities, explaining only that they had a stake in a ship with some Jedhans who wanted to find their fellow survivors. He largely omitted Rhinzi from the discussion, and mentioned neither the Empire nor the Rebellion.

                Nari told them that she’d been a long-time resident of Alderaan, but that her travels often took her off-world. She’d been travelling the Western Reaches when news of the planet’s destruction had reached her, and with similarly circumspect details, she explained how she’d rallied various contacts and friends and obtained a passenger liner and a legal docking on Coruscant. They’d reached Oseon without much trouble, but many of their instruments had been fried by interference from the asteroid field — she mentioned neither Ossus, nor any intention to travel _through_ the field.

                Now their ship and passengers were stranded on one of the larger asteroids, leaving Nari and a handful of people to travel back and forth to Oseon VII on a shuttle, bargaining away the history and culture they’d tried to save in exchange for food and parts for their ship. Oseon’s disinterest may have protected them from Imperial trackers, but it also worked against them, as the locals were too nonplussed to stir themselves to help the stranded refugee ship.

                Their clothes were returned to them, and when Cassian had changed back into his normal outfit, Nari led Jyn to the side-parlour of the tea-house, offering to help her with the tangled material of her dress. Jyn was too mired in her private battle with memories she’d not known she’d ever had to object. She let Nari unwind the cloth fully from her neck, offering only listless gestures of assistance.

                Nari tutted as she revealed the bacta patch, and peeled the material back to look at Jyn’s injury. “Hey!” she pressed the patch back down, glaring.

                “What happened to you?” Nari scolded, her hand moving undeterred over Jyn’s swollen eyebrow and up into her hairline.

                Jyn batted her away. “Let’s just say that I prefer it when my past stays in my past,” she snarled.

                Nari scrutinised her yet more closely. “Tell me what happened. I know you fled Krennic. When did he find you?”

                Nausea pushed its way through Jyn’s chest. “I don’t remember. I mean. When do you mean?”

                Nari shook her head, exasperation and pity warring on her features. The pity made Jyn want to claw the dress from her body, grab her clothes and flee through the café’s low window. She settled with the first action, as Nari guided her shaking hands and the dress up over her head.

                “He found us on Lah’mu. He,” the words seemed to ossify in her throat; she had no idea how to say them. She’d not said them out loud for so long. Had they been buried with Saw, turned to rock and dust like everything else on Jedha?

                “He shot her,” she finally muttered, pulling her trousers on and ignoring Nari as much as she could. “He took P … p … he took my father. I went with Saw. He left me. I moved around. I was on Wobani. Then Saw died. Then he got to my father before I could. Then he died. But I think he was actually a good man. I guess. My father, I mean.”

                Jyn pulled her hair back into its tie and flinched her face away from Nari, even though the other woman didn’t move, she just stood there holding the Alderaanian dress, resonating with pity for Jyn; sympathy; with a sadness at the injustices she heard come from her fumbling lips.

                Jyn sighed impatiently. They weren’t injustices; they were just her life. And she could absolutely not spend one more second in the cloying little room with that much pity directed at her. “So,” she shrugged. “Now you know my life story,” she pushed past Nari, who seemed to have slipped back into shock, and stormed for the door.

                Cassian pursued her, catching up with her as she emerged shivering into the hot light of Oseon VII’s sun. She couldn’t focus on anything, her chest was tight and she could feel the panic, the bottom of that damned cave on Lah’mu opening up below her, swallowing her down, down into its depths once more.

                A firm grip on each of her arms anchored her, but still she struggled against the falling sensation. Cassian folded her brusquely against his body, his arms encircling her as she made herself small, her shoulders hunched in on themselves. Her vision still swam, but she steadied herself against him; his warmth, the hardness of his breastbone against her cheek, the scratchy material of his shirt pressing on the skin of her face as he breathed hard and held her close.

                She followed the rise and fall of his chest, the way the sensation rippled into a rhythmical echo as her own back expanded with each breath, pressing against his arms. Slowly, finally, her breathing evened out and air didn’t seem to flee her lips even as she tried to draw it in. She closed her eyes and let her shoulders sink, her arms unfold stiffly, let them wrap around his waist. Tentatively, her fingers walked their way to the line of his spine, bringing herself closer to the calm at the eye of the storm.

                Nari had emerged from the building, but Cassian shook his head minutely at her; Jyn felt the movement, his stubbly chin catching on her hair as it had when they’d celebrated the destruction of the Death Star.

                Shakily, Jyn withdrew herself, and Cassian’s arms slid from her shoulders reluctantly. He gave her one cautious look, one quick confirmation that she’d settled; that whatever Nari has scared up had been contained again; but he didn’t push. He squeezed her right bicep once, understanding but not asking, and he looked back at Nari.

                “You’ll want to see the rest of our crew,” he said softly. “Is there a place we can meet later that has private rooms?”

                Nari gave him the address of somewhere in the city centre, and told him where the cheapest speeder hire was. She opened her mouth as she looked at Jyn, considering another question.

                “I’ll see you later,” Jyn managed a weak smile.

                “I hope so,” Nari agreed, sympathy still lingering in her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S THAT FINALLY THEY FOUND THOSE ALDERAANIANS AND IT'S SOMEONE JYN KNEW ANYWAY JEEZ WHAT AN ANTICLIMAX SSHYSMM. :-(
> 
> XD I love Nari, I love Lyra, I want a spin-off like Catalyst where Nari and Lyra have awesome adventures on far-flung planets and there's no Krennic around to mess things up. 'But conflict is necessary to good plotting!' I hear you say. Yeah, well, you can see how well that's going here, anyway... :-P
> 
> Oh yeah, and so many tropes keep calling to me, but I can't quite bring myself to commit to them, so ... sorry for being a tease.
> 
> AND I did read Lando Calrissian and the Flamewind of Oseon way back when, but... I forget everything about it. Oseon's partially canonical still, so I'm just going to play with it.


	29. Chapter 29

She was still twisted in on herself, her arms a defensive barrier across her chest and her gaze fixed on the ground. Cassian didn’t know who Nari was beyond what she’d just told them, and he didn’t know what she’d said to Jyn in the parlour of the tea-house; but he could guess well enough.

                Jyn walked quickly, but he was able to keep up with a long, easy stride. His hand hovered by his side, ready to catch or steady her, held up as though he could keep her past from getting close to her again.

                When he’d read the file on Galen Erso’s wayward, lost daughter, he’d not thought it was anything unusual. The galaxy was full of people who’d become isolated from family, orphaned by war and mishap: drifters, scroungers, brawlers, people who’d cut themselves off from everyone and everything; people driven by an instinct to keep surviving, but ultimately aimless, waiting for it all to stop.

                But when she’d stalked from the Massassi temple to his ship, all wild, staring eyes and mistrustful pout, she’d begun to fight her way clear of the stereotype he’d expected. She wore her time on Wobani heavily, but her instincts had surfaced on Jedha: she’d protected him without a second thought; she’d protected civilians and she’d smiled with such genuine curiosity at Chirrut and his spiel outside the temple. The broken, blank cynicism he’d feared was nothing but a brittle shell she wore; underneath, she was someone who still longed for a family; a team; somewhere to pin the fierce loyalty she was capable of.

                The hope he’d wanted from rebellion resurfaced when he saw it reflected in her. But sometimes he thought she looked like a woman trying to single-handedly haul herself out of a sarlacc’s maw: dragged back down by fear and experience, struggling against the idea that no one would notice if she just slipped away, sank back into the sea of untethered masses caught between Empire and Rebellion. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull her clear.

                They were the first back to the ship, and he wanted to say something.

                Jyn stomped and rattled around the hold, checking blasters, thumbing datapads on and off and pointedly keeping her face turned from him.

                He’d make some story up for a difficult contact; tell them what they needed to hear in order to open up. He’d comfort someone he’d been sent to silence, or distract those who’d been compromised: lies, empty platitudes, human warmth as a tool and a thin cover for the work he had to do. Now, he couldn’t even imagine what he wanted to communicate to the woman currently cursing under her breath as she tried to work out what else she could distract herself with.

                Jyn picked up another datapad, frowned at the screen, dropped it, and raised her hands to her hair, her fingers steepled against her scalp as she surveyed the personal effects scattered about the flight seats. “I’m going for a walk,” she sighed, but only moved one step back towards the landing ramp.

                “No, sit down,” he murmured. Cautiously, he touched fingers to her uninjured shoulder and applied a small guiding pressure. Still looking down, she turned and flopped her bodyweight onto the edge of a chair. She waited pliantly whilst he prepared some of the ship’s scuzzy instant caf and came to sit down next to her.

                “You think one day it’s not going to bother you, but it always does. Every time you remember.”

                Jyn looked up from her caf, studying him. He couldn’t say he’d been deliberately vague; but she read his meaning as clearly as he understood her own allusive speech. “Even if you don’t think you much liked them?” her lips softened into a wry smirk.

                He smiled back at his own mug, thinking of his father’s raised voice in small rooms, of his fist banging surfaces as he emphasised his points to small groups of weary insurgents. “Maybe especially then, if you don’t remember them that often, or that well.”

                They drank their caf in silence for a few moments, then Jyn sighed. She closed her eyes and worked her mouth, trying to decide whether to bother saying whatever had occurred to her. He waited, and eventually she stretched her head back, her eyelids still shut.

                “She thinks it’s somehow her fault. You can see it: she let down her best friend. ‘Should have’ known, ‘should have’ kept in touch, ‘should have’ been there — for me. I’m a mess, and she thinks she gets some of the credit.” Jyn chuckled throatily and returned to her caf.

                Cassian thought of his last meeting with Draven. The man’s disappointment, as though Cassian’s decision to transfer with the rest of _Rogue One_ had meant Draven had somehow failed. The well-intentioned warning that he wouldn’t find what he was looking for; searching was futile, best to stick with what you know, keep taking orders you’re familiar with. You might not like it, or agree with it, but you’ll never feel unmoored, lost in freefall like Cassian had since felt during their chaotic flight to Ithor.

                “You know who does get the credit, though?” he examined the profile of her face. It was all soft curves, incongruous with the edges he’d seen in her smile and her green glare.

                She narrowed her gaze and pulled a face as though she disliked the question. At first, she just shooed it away. “Saying I’m a mess?”

                But a crease of amusement cradled her eyes as she stared into her empty mug. “It’s the Empire. It always has been,” she finally admitted.

                He didn’t care how long he’d been looking at her now. She seemed comfortable under his star-struck gaze, so he let it remain, his smile fixed in bemused contentment. He even managed to hold his composure when she turned to him suddenly, a mischievous light in her eyes.

                “What’s your excuse?”

                “Oh, the same. Maybe a bit of help from the Separatists,” he shrugged, making a gesture of mocking nonchalance. To his delight, Jyn grinned.

                Hesitation quickly followed the smile, and she fidgeted awkwardly. “I don’t want …” she started, then sighed at her mug again. “I don’t …” she swallowed the next attempt. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, steeling herself to finally ask: “Tell me. I want to know.”

                Cassian, too, had to consult the dregs of caf in his mug at that question. He opened his mouth once or twice and puzzled over fragments of memories that were little more now than a dot-to-dot: a star map to navigate him to the identity he’d formed through the years since his childhood had first been turned upside down. “I don’t know how,” he told her.

                Jyn looked at him quizzically, her frown deepening; then she burst into another smile. “That’s good enough.”

                Before they could slip back into the comfortable silence of a few moments earlier, there was a shout and the clang of boots on the landing ramp.

                “Hey! Someone back already?” Bodhi’s voice came nervously.

                Cassian and Jyn both stood up quickly, and Bodhi blinked, looking between them. “Uh. Hi. Glad we don’t have intruders!”

                He beckoned Rhinzi up the ramp after him and dropped his satchel, heading for the instant caf kits that Cassian had left out. “So, we learnt that a passenger liner — or an antique star destroyer — may — or may not — have crashed — or landed — in the asteroid field. Or gone into it. And Rhinzi got some helpful information on the system’s anomalies, should we still have to travel _through_ that thing.”

                Cassian glanced at Jyn, who nodded encouragement. “We found Rhinzi’s contact,” he shrugged.

                Bodhi’s mouth dropped into an astonished ‘o’ shape, as round as his eyes. He threw down the small hydrospanner he’d been stirring his caf with and spluttered, one hand held wide in a questioning gesture. “I’m sorry, what? You just stumbled across the contact, and you didn’t, oh, I don’t know, comm it in?”

                He exchanged another rueful glance with Jyn, who addressed Bodhi this time. “It’s a long story. The meeting was … complicated. And we’re meeting her tonight anyway.”

                Bodhi looked from one of them to the other again, then rolled his eyes and took a swig of hot caf without even wincing. “Fine. Update me when the others get back, I’m going to have a look at the data Rhinzi collected.” He descended into the cockpit with the mug in one hand and a datapad in his back pocket.

                Rhinzi just smiled warmly at Cassian and Jyn, and quietly took a seat.

                He ignored the old man’s attention and took Jyn’s mug, running a hand through his hair distractedly as he put the vessels into the small sonic cleaning unit. Jyn approached the landing ramp and leaned against one of the hydraulic arms on each side of it, gazing out at the spaceport and up into Oseon VII’s blue sky as it deepened into a dusky greenish blue.

                Cassian kept letting his gaze be drawn back to her, feeling an emptiness by his side now that others had returned to the ship. She scanned the sky for some time, eventually rolling her shoulders and offering Rhinzi a light smile. “Did you enjoy the museums?”

                Rhinzi grinned, showing off the absence of some of his teeth. “Yes, thank you. The mineral composition of the asteroids is very unusual; combined with the star’s radiation, the gas cloud is unlike any others known in the galaxy. If the Empire had known quite how unusual it is, the system would have been occupied long ago.”

                Jyn raised her eyebrows. “Good job they didn’t know then, I guess.”

                “Did you enjoy the market?” Rhinzi asked as Jyn turned back to look at the city.

                Cassian clanked objects around the caf station, eyeing the canny old man, who wore that grandfatherly expression he recognised from Rhinzi’s attempts to treat his injured ribs.

                Jyn frowned and only half-turned back to him. “Not really. Full of people with more credits than sense. Vendors won’t talk to you unless you pay them for it, and then they’ll only tell you what they think you _want_ to hear.”

                “But you met my contact? Our friend?”

                “I did,” her lips thinned. Cassian thought that if Rhinzi had lived on a planet with more dangerous wildlife than Coruscant had, he might have recognised the expression on Jyn’s face as one to avoid.

                Luckily, Rhinzi was spared the discovery of how long Jyn’s patience would last, as Chirrut and Baze appeared at the edge of the spaceport. Jyn waved them over, and they quickly reported that there were indeed Alderaanians on-planet; they’d discovered the bar they frequented, and it was the same address that Nari had given Cassian for the meeting that evening.

                In contrast to Rhinzi, Chirrut immediately picked up something about Jyn’s attitude. He leaned on his staff with his head tilted, and offered her an ambiguous smirk. “The Force works in its own ways, Jyn. It will be good that comes of this, I am certain of that.”

                Baze arrived by Chirrut’s side and draped an arm over him. “You need to talk about anything, little sister?”

                Despite her tense posture, Jyn broke into a grateful smile and examined the toes of her boots. “Is this the team that scoured the bars of the city for information? First the Force, then Baze, with a friendly chat — no coercion here, none at all — over a pint?”

                Baze raised his eyebrows and shrugged; a few drinks had made him cleave even more to Chirrut than normal. “It did the job, didn’t it?” he looked down at Chirrut, who tilted his head up out of habit.

                “I sense we’re not the only ones with news, however,” Chirrut smiled, twisting around to find Cassian across the hold.

                They called Bodhi up from the cockpit and everyone went through what they’d discovered. Cassian avoided specifics when discussing Nari, but as he stopped speaking, Jyn fixed each of the crew with a defensive, but carefully ironic expression. “Nari Sable also happens to be a family friend of the Ersos, whatever that means. No, before you ask, I don’t have a complicated past with someone on every planet in this Force-forsaken galaxy — sorry, Chirrut. She was my mother’s best friend, and she’s got a lot of catching up to do.” Jyn’s lip twisted somewhere between amusement and disdain. “So I’d appreciate it if you could all keep her distracted and occupied with the important business of assessing how to get the refugee ship flying again.”


	30. Chapter 30

A short time later the crew assembled, as twilight deepened outside the ship. The excitement of the Jedhans was palpable, and Cassian saw that Jyn still had that folded, meek look about her, radiating guilt that her personal past was intruding on a mission that was meant to be about closure for the others.

                They took a short speeder ride to the centre of the city and filed into a large, featureless bar. As cavernous as its main room was, it offered more space down corridors leading behind the serving counter. One of the twins who’d been with Nari and Marnoi earlier beckoned to them from an open doorway and Cassian dropped back with Jyn to let Baze, Chirrut, Bodhi and Rhinzi lead the way.

                The back room was warm with panelled wood and low light, and it was only with a shuffling of stools and chairs that all six of them were able to fit around the table with the four members of Nari’s party they’d met previously, plus another two women, who wore loose robes that looked more Jedhan than Alderaanian. A greasy, surly Twi’lek came and went with the orders; his presence in lieu of a serving droid belying the bar’s low budget status.

                Cassian had watched Nari’s expression carefully as Rhinzi approached the table: she’d been surprised, but her happiness was genuine, and she didn’t betray any suspicions of the ex-Imperial. However, she soon asked how, precisely, Rhinzi had managed to get off Coruscant.

                To the old man’s credit, he hesitated and looked at the rest of _Rogue One_ ’s crew, settling on Cassian and Jyn as the final arbiters of what he should say next. Nari also looked at them, and when she did, so did her companions.

                “Well, it’s safe to assume none of you are fans of the Empire at this stage, right?” Jyn offered sardonically. Her knuckles were white on her drink, but she hadn’t yet slipped back down the dark tunnel of memories that had enveloped her earlier.

                Nari smiled wanly, as did the Alderaanians and the Jedhans.

                Jyn looked uneasily at Cassian, then continued. “That planet-killer, that destroyed your homes? You know it’s gone now?”

                “Rumours. That’s all we hear,” Marnoi replied.

                “Well it is gone,” Jyn swallowed. “We — all of us here, except Rhinzi — we helped it happen. We ended up working with the Rebellion,” her eyes flicked to Cassian again, who just nodded, not contradicting her. “Then, afterwards, we had a mission to an Imperial prison on Nam Chorios. That’s where we found Rhinzi, and found out about what happened on Coruscant.”

                “He was _captured_?” Marnoi gestured at Rhinzi, who nodded unhelpfully.

                “I didn’t want to tell them — they made me, they made me!” he protested, and every one of Nari’s party tensed, reassessing the crew of _Rogue One_.

                Cassian sighed and made a placatory gesture, his hand lowering to the table’s edge slowly. “Rhinzi didn’t have much information to pass on to the Empire. He didn’t know your name, Nari, he only knew the kind of ship and where it was leaving from.”

                “And the Ithorians,” Rhinzi added, equally unhelpfully.

                Cassian found his own patience struggling, but Chirrut interjected. “Ithor is preparing to be brave, to finally take the step of joining the Rebellion. It will receive protection, and as far as we all know, both Momaw Nadon and Old Jho are safe and well.”

                Marnoi repeated the words, “as far as you know” with a roll of his eyes, but Nari just let out a deep sigh and studied Jyn, who fidgeted with her rapidly emptying glass, and refused to meet Nari’s eyes.

                “You’re Rebels?” she asked.

                They all hesitated, and Cassian saw doubt rise once more around the room. “I am. They are, too. But only recently recruited.”

                “You’re in charge of this mission you’ve been pursuing?” Marnoi added bluntly. “It was your idea to follow us, when we clearly didn’t want to be followed?”

                “No,” Baze growled defensively. “Our command structure is … variable. The Captain has vouched for all of us in the Rebellion. And he’s proven himself to the rest of us time and time over. Chirrut and I, we were Guardians of the Whills. We escaped the loss of NiJedha with the help of the Captain. I can still taste the dust on my back teeth, our escape was so close. We commiserated the loss of Alderaan with its most gracious Princess, and we wanted to find and help any of our compatriots who had survived.”

                “The Empire is hunting survivors down,” Jyn added, pressing her knuckles into the table. “If we hadn’t decided to try and find you, no one would have been looking but the Empire. And they’d have found you, eventually. And they’d have destroyed you, like they want to destroy all other survivors.”

                The two Jedhan women conferred amongst one another, and said something in dialect to Baze. Bodhi replied, and they both exclaimed happily. Marnoi and Nari exchanged a look, whilst the Alderaanian twins paled; both were extremely uncomfortable with the situation, Cassian saw. As the chatter between the Jedhans continued though, a semblance of ease began to permeate the room.

                It soon emerged that the Jedhan women had sold copies of sacred books at a stall on NaJedha, but that the end of the Jedi Order had inspired them to travel the galaxy, spreading the peaceful words of the Whills in the vacuum left by the Jedi. They were sisters: Halla the elder and Jesma the younger. It wasn’t long before they were engaged in enthusiastic conversation with Baze and Chirrut, and Bodhi swapped seats with Baze so that he could more easily talk across the table with Marnoi; he was a native Alderaanian who had worked on Coruscant for years, in an underfunded part of the university. The twins, Jorn and Roht, had been visiting a distant uncle on Coruscant, who remained on the passenger ship, stranded on the asteroid. They were accomplished slicers and engineers, and despite their youth, Nari had thought them well suited to needs of the shuttle missions to and from Oseon VII.

                Nari elaborated a little on her time with Lyra Erso, mapping cave systems and remote, unspoilt planets. She began to explain that she remembered the research trip on which Lyra had met Galen Erso, and Jyn upended the dregs of her drink into her mouth and slammed it down as she stood. “Another round?” she forced a smile.

                Before Nari could respond, Jyn wove her way through the jumble of seats and called for the Twi’lek barman.

                Cassian felt Nari watching him watch Jyn, and she shuffled around the table to lean over conspiratorially. “You must tell me what happened to Galen.”

                He raised his eyebrows and sat back, taking a long draught of his own drink. “No,” he shook his head. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

                Nari eyed him. “You know her well?”

                He wasn’t sure where to look under her piercing stare, so shrugged at his beer. “I guess. A little.”

                “Well far be it from me to intervene,” Nari told him, in a voice that indicated she was about to intervene in some way. “But it seems to me that young woman has had an awful time of it, and it’s clear to me that a man only makes things worse. You be careful with her.”

                “No, it’s not —“ he began, but Jyn slumped down between them again, glaring suspiciously at first Nari and then Cassian.

                He finished his own drink and grimaced at Jyn as they waited for the barman to return.

…

This wasn’t the ideal recruiting scenario. He’d definitely had too many beers; Baze was raucous to one side of him, and he’d been trying to match Jyn out of some misguided idea that she might slow down if she wasn’t drinking alone. Now he kept trying to explain to Nari that her passengers would be better off with the Rebellion than pursuing some legendary world beyond the asteroid field.

                Nari drank more slowly, but she’d had enough to humour the conversation. She explained again and again that their flight from the Empire couldn’t have closure without reaching Ossus; the Jedhans expected it, and the Alderaanians were mainly defectors from the Empire who mistrusted Rebels as much as their former employers. Besides — she’d respond — if Ithor was now in trouble, even with the possibility of the Rebels’ help, what was the guarantee they’d be any safer throwing in with Leia’s survivors? Then Cassian would return to the argument of strength in numbers, of the ideals of the cause, and Nari would respond that she’d resisted well enough for years without needing the orders of the Rebel Alliance to tell her what was the right or wrong thing to do.

                Eventually, at the end of his beer, and seeing that only he and Jyn were out, he decided to break the cycle, and stood, blinking, offering to head to the bar himself. Jyn smiled up at him, and he took that as acceptance, a grateful expression that propelled him to the front room in something of a daze.

                Before he’d finished paying, a soft touch at his elbow made him turn to see her standing there, the same sweet smile on her lips. He grinned; it was the kind of daft grin he dimly remembered Kay mocking him for when the droid had to carry him out of some dive bar between missions. When the alcohol had successfully drowned the experiences of his work.

The front of the building had filled up and echoed with the booze-heightened chatter of the patrons inside it. In order to be heard, Jyn stood on her tiptoes and directed her mouth towards his ear; he leant towards her only too willingly.

                “Thank you for keeping her distracted. I mean, I know I asked, but I didn’t think anyone would manage it!”

                He shrugged happily. Time skipped along easily as they discussed something inane; he thought Jyn might have been laughing about the Alderaanian dress and its unnecessary lengths of material; he might have responded with a story about the first time he’d had to wear an Imperial uniform. He felt light, like he was looking at himself from the other side of the room, but Jyn was still laughing — actually laughing — at something one of them had said, and so was he. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this. His ribs hurt, but he didn’t want to stop.

                Then Nari reappeared. The smile she gave them didn’t quite reach her eyes, and she came to lean against the bar on Jyn’s other side. Jyn gave her a coy look over her drink, and Cassian regretfully let his chuckle die out in his own glass as he lifted it.

                “Jyn. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to interrupt. But I need to know. Your parents were my friends. What happened to them?”

                Jyn tossed her head like something wild. Her mouth had formed an exaggerated downward curve and she wouldn’t look at Nari. She leant forward on the bar, flanked by Cassian and Nari, who both leaned back against it. Only when Nari reached out a hand to her and Jyn shrugged it away did she start to answer.

                Mirth returned to her face as she spoke, but her eyes remained hard and cold. “Well, when I was eight,” she said in a sing-song voice, mocking a children’s story. “My mother thought she could take on a squad of deathtroopers and an Imperial officer and live. She died in the home-field and my father went away willingly.” Jyn pushed away from the bar and offered an ironic toast with her glass before drinking from it. “For years, I believed that my father was a happy collaborator on a secret Imperial project.” Another drink. “I ended up in an Imperial jail, but then some Rebels bust me out.” The toast was directed to Cassian this time. Force, he was drunk enough that he returned her tight smile and raised his own glass. “They wanted to find my father. They told me they wanted to bring him to trial. To stop him from finishing some … planet-killing … star … something,” her last words disappeared into her glass.

                Nari remained silent and still, enduring the performance. “But,” Jyn laughed. “But this particular Rebel,” she swayed a little as she stumbled away from the bar and then back towards Cassian. “He was meant to kill my father!”

                Nari’s hard gaze moved slowly to him and then back to Jyn. Jyn howled with laughter again. “But even though Saw wanted to die rather than come with us, at least my father left me a message. Guess what? He thought I might be _happy_ somewhere. Settled! Can you imagine? And then,” she crooked a thumb at him again. “ _He_ believed me. He believed the message. That my father might not have been quite so complicit in the Empire’s evil scheme…”

                Jyn took a breath and steadied herself on the bar with her fingers. She looked at Cassian out of heavy-lidded eyes, and he saw none of the rage she’d directed at him after Eadu. She even smiled again. “So he couldn’t quite pull the trigger himself and had to let the X Wings do it.”

                He was too drunk for the barbs to really hurt; she was too drunk to really put any force behind them. Instead, she seemed to have forgotten about Nari. She stumbled once in his direction and leaned over to be heard again.

                “I forgive you,” she told him, her eyes dancing with a challenge.

                He smiled right back at her and leant even closer, glancing once into the depths of her swollen pupils. “I don’t forgive me.”

                His head swam when he got too close to her, so he leant back again with a knowing look and took a long drink from his beer. Jyn’s smile was almost kind, utterly relaxed by the alcohol. But she made herself turn back to Nari. “My father died in my arms on Eadu. I think most of the Rebellion still blame him for the Death Star, when they should thank him for leaving them a way to destroy it.”

                Jyn shrugged and stepped back, bumping against Cassian’s left arm, but leaning into it rather than away. Nari just dabbed at her eyes, trying to maintain composure in the face of utter discomposure. “All right. All right. Thank you,” her eyes were welling up too quickly for the delicate brushes of her fingers to stop her tears from falling.

                Jyn’s aggressive eye-contact finally faltered and she looked down. As she moved her arm to raise her beer it caught Cassian’s bruised ribs, and he let out a sharp gasp of pain.

                She turned gratefully away from Nari, who turned away herself to order another drink.

                “I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, putting her beer down and reaching tentative fingers towards his torso.

                Even through all the beers, Cassian froze with uncertainty. He put his own glass down and caught her hands before they could start pushing curiously at his shirt. But her hands were warm, hot even; he could feel her pulse through her thumbs. Jyn looked up, surprised they he’d stopped her. Truth be told, he was surprised too. But then she wrapped her fingers back around his grip on her and pulled herself towards him. Her mouth was slightly open, concern on her face and a question that hadn’t quite formed. There was beer on her lips, and the rational part of his mind had long since shut down.

                They both moved at once, mouths meeting with an urgent bump, and Jyn freed her hands to slide them up his chest to either side of his neck. His own grip found her waist and kept her near, her body hot all over with the alcohol coursing through. This might not have been the best time, a small voice in his head warned him; she was awash with grief and doubt and he was just a convenient distraction. But her hands raked through the back of his hair, and her insistent tongue told him that it was the other way around: nothing would distract her from him right now. He silenced his misgivings against her lips, tasting her through the overlay of cheap tinny beer.

…

“Ah!” His hands went to his ribs, unceremoniously moving aside the weight that had lain there. His head felt like the nebula above them, fogged with stale alcohol and questions. Air returned to his lungs, but breathing remained uncomfortable. It was only when he heard a soft muttered curse next to him that he let his eyes open.

                Jyn sat up. She was fully-clothed, as was he. Her hair was a scraggly mess around her head and her full lips were pink and raw. She looked at him with an astonishment far less bleary than that which he felt, and she leapt to her feet.

                With a burst of panic, he too sat up on his bunk in _Rogue One_ ’s lower deck. Groggily, but with genuine urgency, he followed as she ran for the access ladder. “Wait!” he called, stumbling after her through the obstacle course that was the hold.

                “Caf? Anyone? No?” Bodhi asked half-heartedly as Jyn sprinted past and Cassian kept on after her.

                “Told you. Pay up,” Baze’s voice in turn followed them from the hold.

                He didn’t know why she was running, and he didn’t know why he was chasing; he just wanted an opportunity to wake up gradually and find out. But his chest roared with fire as he tried to keep up with her, and with a conflicted glance back, Jyn leapt into one of the unoccupied hire speeders and drove off.

                Cassian stood wincing on the permacrete, suddenly aware that although she’d had her boots on, he did not.

                The speeder drivers regarded him with a lazy interest as he gasped for breath. With a wince, he turned and padded painfully back towards the _Rogue One_ , his socks slapping on the smooth ground.

                “I ask you again: caf?” Bodhi held the mug out and Cassian took it without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles innocently*
> 
> This wasn't going to happen yet. And then it did.
> 
> (this chapter largely brought to you by looking at too many cast interviews, where Diego Luna is a happy little fluffball)


	31. Chapter 31

It took a while for her to fully wake up. She was comfortable, but she knew if she moved an inch her body would remember each beer from the night before. Whilst her thoughts bobbed along just below the surface of consciousness, the only snippets that returned were warm, self-congratulatory scenes: she’d contributed to letting Nari know why they’d thought it so important to follow the refugees, and she’d sat by Nari for some time, a perfect semblance of someone holding it together. Particularly gratifyingly, she seemed to remember making Cassian laugh about something. She’d not seen him laugh before: his eyes crinkled and his cheek dimpled. She remembered his chin dipping towards his chest as he looked down at her.

                Wait. Oh no.

                Jyn’s muscles tensed. She tried to force herself back into unconsciousness, but memories began to spill up into her mind. Simultaneously, she realised how much the skin around her mouth prickled. She tasted stale beer, but under that something else: pine and electrical grease and the smell of someone else’s body, all over her clothes.

                She wasn’t meant to do that. She hadn’t meant to. She liked him too much; _respected_ him too much to put him through that.

                Jyn forced her eyes open and squinted painfully at the lower side of one of the bunks on _Rogue One_. She lay in the crook of one of his arms, her body half on his, both of them lying on their backs in an ungainly sprawl. Any attempt to recollect how she’d got from the bar to the ship was beyond her reluctant, aching mind. Slowly, she moved a set of fingers to her lips, feeling the inflamed skin and mentally cursing Cassian’s stubble.

                Well, her half-drunk brain told her, maybe she could salvage this. It could be passed off as a drunken misunderstanding; maybe it really had just been that? Maybe she could get away, and he’d wake up and be as uncertain of the previous night’s events as she’d been. Maybe she could convince him nothing had happened.

                She tried to move her arm to prop herself up, but her shoulder blade pressed into him.

                He woke with an exclamation that sent Jyn shooting to a seated position even as his hands pushed her off his bruised ribs. His eyes stayed closed as his touch explored his ribcage, and she had to curl her own hands into fists to resist the urge to reach over and smooth out the frown line between his brows. She muttered a quiet curse as she realised she’d been passed out half on his injured side, and at that, his eyes opened too.

                Jyn looked at him in panic, and reflex kicked in. She was on her feet and heading for the access ladder, and inexplicably, he was following, shouting after her. She was too groggy with alcohol and the flight impulse was too ingrained for her to stop and listen. She barged past Bodhi, Baze’s knees, Chirrut’s staff, clattering down the ramp and inhaling the ever-warm air of Oseon VII with relief — at first— and then a stale, phlegmy cough. It didn’t slow her down much though: she saw the row of speeders and she didn’t think. She was in one and gunning its engines before its driver even noticed, and then she was away, clear of her most recent mistake. For now.

                She slowed down at the end of the street, realising with a heady rush that she was not fit to swing the vessel around the city at any great pace. The planet’s atmosphere brushed gently over her cheeks and through her hair though, coaxed by the movement of the speeder into providing more relief from the heat than it did when she stood still.

                She swallowed down on nausea as clips of the previous night kept catching up with her. Nari’s eyes, red with grief as she listened to Jyn regale her with a particularly cruel account of what had happened to Lyra and Galen. She felt guilt press down on her chest like the point of a blade, and reluctantly found herself steering back towards the bar.

                The Twi’lek owner bared his teeth in a grin or a sneer. He was brushing broken glass and debris out of his doorway in the bright morning sun, and Jyn winced as light glittered off the broken shards.

                “No returns,” the Twi’lek snickered. He said something else in his own language that sorely tempted Jyn to leave the speeder and break his nose against the wall, but she imagined the smell of blood in the hot sun, and the feeling of the impact recoiling up her arm, and she thought her stomach might not be up to it.

                She managed a twisted smirk in reply instead. “I’m looking for the others. The older woman, her people — where do they stay?”

                The Twi’lek shrugged and went back to his brushing.

                Jyn sighed and rummaged in every pocket for a few creds. She threw them into the junk at his feet and he looked up with another ferocious smile. He gave her an address out by the launderers’ quarter, and Jyn left without thanking him.

                There was no answer at the address he’d given her, and Jyn sat back against the driver’s seat with a sigh. It was a relief, in a way. But she’d still have to see Nari again soon. And by then it would be too late for apology or explanation. And if she couldn’t find Nari now, she’d have to return to the ship. And when she returned to the ship she’d have to talk to Cassian instead.

                Jyn thumped the dashboard of the speeder and swore in a combination of Sullustan and particularly guttural Huttese.

                “I’d ask where you learnt language like that, but I’m fairly certain the answer would be your mother,” a voice called out sardonically.

                Jyn looked up to see that she was cruising past the tea-house Nari had brought them to the previous day. Nari sat at an outdoor bench, a sheet of flimsiplast giving the local news on her lap, and a mug of something herby that Jyn could smell from across the street in her hand.

                She pulled a face and parked the speeder down the road, walking sullenly back to the tea-house.

                She stood in front of Nari, half-deliberately blocking the sun that the other woman had been basking in. Jyn shoved her hands in her pockets and scowled at a point on the bench just next to where Nari sat.

                “I hope you’re not looking for my commiseration after last night?” Nari asked, sipping her tea sweetly and ignoring Jyn’s passive-aggressive stance.

                She frowned down at her. “Commiseration?”

                Nari looked at her penetratingly and then shrugged. “Good. I don’t want to hear about your man problems. Heard it all before.”

                Jyn gave a scornful huff and turned, almost walking away right then. But she made herself stay, for the memory of her father if nothing else. She wheeled back to face Nari. “I came, actually, to apologise. To you. I don’t regret anything I said, but … the manner could have been different.”

                Nari actually lowered her mug and managed to look surprised. Jyn fidgeted, feeling her head begin to pound in the rising heat of Oseon VII’s day, but finally Nari uncrossed her legs, moved the flimsiplast news sheet and shuffled up the bench. “Sit down, Jyn.”

                She accepted the invitation, but stayed in a slouched posture, with her arms folded. “I don’t know you. I didn’t know either of my parents, not well. So …”

                “So you don’t want me making assumptions based on what you were like as a six-year-old, that’s fair,” Nari smiled crookedly.

                Jyn rubbed her forehead and groaned. “Something like that. Ugh, I sound like a moody teenager. Nari, look. I appreciate the concern. It might be … nice to hear something about my parents. Sometime. But please don’t look at me like,” she sighed, the words she wanted elusive in the rising fog of her hangover. “Like I remind you of my mother, and you want to … I don’t know, make it all better.”

                When she glanced up, she saw that Nari wore a thoughtful expression. But it wasn’t an expression that suggested she was about to agree to anything.

                “I respect that, Jyn. You look a lot like Lyra. And no one’s been able to tell you that before. But you’re not her. I _do_ remember you as a child, and it’s a shock to see that someone as easy-going and happy as that child had to grow up so fast and so hard. It’s difficult to live in this galaxy without allowing yourself a few ‘what-ifs’.”

                Jyn pressed her lips together and had to pinch the bridge of her nose as her tear ducts began to tingle. She managed to compose herself before she spoke again. “That’s funny, because I find it a lot more difficult if I _do_ stop to imagine what-ifs.”

                Nari’s smile was growing too warm, and knowing, and sympathetic again. Jyn shifted uneasily and picked at her fingernails.

                “I remember what things were like before all of this though. A bit of alternative history doesn’t go amiss: it keeps you mindful of the little choices that make a difference. Reminds you how few steps there might yet be between totalitarianism and normalcy.”

                At this, Jyn laughed mirthlessly and stood, running a hand through her messy, half-tied-back hair. “Thank you for the history lesson,” her voice wavered over a well of anger and bitter sadness. “I think now my apology is done, I’ll leave you to it…”

                Nari put her mug down and stood too, managing to catch hold of Jyn’s upper arms. She even got away with a hug before Jyn’s slowed reactions allowed her to pry her way free. “You’re in no condition to drive that speeder. The rest of my crew are getting a few final supplies for this run, then we’ll be going back to the spaceport. I assume your own crew will want to follow us to the asteroid?”

                “I can drive it fine,” Jyn took a step away.

                “So you’re going to go back to the ship and say your apologies there, too?” Nari peered at her with a smirk that went straight through her.

                Jyn folded her arms again and affected offense. “I’m going to enjoy the fresh air a bit longer. You know, for someone who is not my mother, you could stand to mind your own business a bit more.”

                She didn’t respond as Jyn had hoped she would to the attack: instead of a huff of indignation, Nari grinned wickedly. “Oh no, you won’t like it, but this is how I spoke to Lyra too.”

                Jyn grimaced; again, the casual assumption that she knew anything about her, simply because she’d known her mother. She decided to leave it though, and shrugged, turning back to the speeder.

                The speeder she’d stolen, that was now being scrutinised by a pair of local security officers.

                Jyn considered walking back to the ship. Maybe, if she took long enough, they’d really think she’d gone. Back to her days of running after a brief respite. Briefly a hero of the Rebellion, then she slunk away on the streets of a remote planet — only after having made a fool of herself over a fellow Scarif survivor.

                She swore again and raked her fingers through her hair repeatedly, staring grimly at the speeder. Of course she didn’t want to be left behind. Not now. Not without choosing. And not on this stuck-up tourist trap. She just didn’t want to go back and try and put together whatever she’d broken last night or this morning.

                She steeled herself and turned back to Nari, who finished her tea nonchalantly, then looked up at her with a curious “Hm?”

                “I’ll take that lift actually. If the offer’s still there.”

                Nari graciously let her sit in the shade in silence. Jyn preferred the hard, dusty ground to the bench and stretched her legs out, leaning her head back against the outer wall of the tea-house. When she closed her eyes, her sensory memory grew stronger, making her hands miss the half-remembered feel of Cassian’s firm body under his loose shirt; making her lips miss the way the hair on his face moved seamlessly from rough-shorn sideburns to the soft, feathery strands just above his ear.

                Tired of squinting against the sun, she finally let her lids fall shut, let herself bask in the thoughts. The still, hot air warmed her skin through her clothes, and she’d almost slipped into a relieved doze by the time Nari’s crew arrived.

                The journey was mercifully quiet, and Jyn didn’t quite like to admit how relieved she was to see _Rogue One_ ’s scorched, rusted form lowering on the permacrete at the spaceport. She shielded her eyes from the system’s baking sun with a hand as she got out of the speeder, waving at Baze, who lay on the landing ramp, soaking up the day’s heat.

                He regarded the speeder accompanying her with a look of disappointment, realising he’d have to get up and greet Nari and her party. Then he reassessed Jyn’s pale face and heady, sleep-deprived step, and he seemed to decide that talking to Nari was preferable to hanging around the ship to see what developed next.

                He banged his hand on the metal and called Chirrut, who emerged from the shady interior of the ship. Chirrut paused, tilting his head slightly, and in turn beckoned Bodhi forth. He and Baze walked down the ramp, followed by Bodhi, who brought a protesting Rhinzi with him, a hand embedded in the loose fabric of Rhinzi’s robe.

                Jyn waited at the bottom of the ramp, peering at them as they passed, through tired, narrowed eyes. As Bodhi and Marnoi’s voices drifted to her ears over the sound of the speeder’s idling engine, she drew a breath and glumly made her feet stamp up into the hold.

                Her eyes adjusted slowly to the absence of direct sunlight inside the ship’s hold. Blinking away the residual glare and steadying herself against the flight chairs, she squinted hesitantly into the gloom.

                Cassian had just emerged from the lower deck, following the sound of Baze and the others leaving the ship with a curious frown. When he spotted her, she couldn’t quite make the details of his expression out; she couldn’t say whether her fears filled in aspects that weren’t clear, imagining a grimace and a scowl and a shutting of doors. He seemed to tense, as if about to flinch away and return to the lower level, but control returned quickly and he let out a vexed sigh.

                She recognised that an apology was probably due, but the words were not forthcoming. Instead, miserable thoughts began to unfurl: perhaps she should just turn around and return to Oseon VII’s streets. She’d find a way off-world soon enough; pockets in the market would provide easy-pickings, and she’d be able to start again, all over again, moving away from the past, sidestepping the confrontation with herself by just letting habit take over.

                Jyn tried to imagine reclaiming her old lives, tried to imagine which planets she might make another new start on; places where no one could possibly know Liana, or Nari McVee, or Kestrel, or any of her other names.

                But something got in the way of her unfocused gaze; slowly, warily, Cassian approached her and caught her elbows with his grip.

                “I’m glad you came back,” he said softly.

                The muscles in her back went rigid, and the voices of Liana, Kestrel and the others clamoured to lash out that she’d come back for the mission, not for him. But Jyn tamped down on that response, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. This close, the smell of him was suddenly familiar; something she wanted to fall into; comforting and complex.

                She twisted her wrist to take hold of his forearm, and gently stepped back, once. “I didn’t mean to … it’s not a good idea.”

                His hands, empty, hung in the air for a moment where she’d been, then he tucked them a little too roughly around his body, his arms folded high across his chest.

                She made herself look up, telling herself to take responsibility for whatever her words had done.

                Cassian’s face was a practised mask, clear of emotion. But Jyn thought she caught something like hurt in a flash of his eyes, like a glimpse of something being pushed under water and held there.

                She tried to force her lips into a smile: something reassuring, easy-going and friendly — but nothing more. It felt like a sick parody on her mouth, and she let it drop, exhaustion slinking down over her shoulders. The words she’d struggled with finally fell out as she gave up the effort: “I’m sorry. I don’t want to do that to you.”

                His shoulders hunched up to his ears and his eyes widened slightly. He’d barely moved, but a change seemed to her to have swept over his face. She recognised the deepening of the creases around his eyes and mouth; somewhere between exasperation, annoyance and genuine fondness. “What if I want you to?” he shrugged, his eyes pressing her, hope glittering on the surface.

                Jyn swallowed. When her bluff was called, she was usually better prepared.

                “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, thinking of the only time she’d ever heard Elysse really raise her voice, shouting down her door, begging to talk it over one last time.

                Cassian shifted, mulling something over as he regarded her, his arms still folded and his expression still at war with itself. “Maybe I do,” he said, quietly enough that she looked up sharply. “I can’t say for certain,” his shoulders twitched again. “But you might not be the only person in the galaxy who’s … who regrets their handling of …”

                Jyn watched him in fascination as the words faltered. She heard her pulse quicken in her ears, finally felt her mouth quirk up in a half-smile as she shook her head at him. She reversed her earlier movement, letting herself take a swaying step back towards him. She’d never seen Cassian struggle for words before; the spectacle captivated her.  “What?” she asked him, a gentle laugh pushing forward through the question.

                He met her gaze with a perplexed shrug and his own nervous chuckle. “I don’t know! I don’t even have the words for this,” he drew one hand from where it had been tucked in his armpit and waved it dismissively.

                Jyn thought about her next response; she could light-heartedly point out that as they were both clearly so bad at this, they’d be better off not attempting anything together. They might both laugh uneasily again and step apart and, after an awkward few days, maybe, things on board would return to normal. The possibility made her pause a little too long though. Something had shifted between them and she lacked the conviction to try and force it back.

                Even as she contemplated moving away, she found herself leaning forward.

                Cassian reached for her, his hands suddenly warm and rough-skinned on her jaw and neck.

                Unwilling to relinquish the initiative solely to him, Jyn’s own fingers grabbed his shirt greedily as he bent to kiss her. He tasted of caf, which she’d still not had since waking that day, and Jyn pressed hard against him, her tongue searching out the flavour. It mingled with stale beer and the smell of him that had clung to her all morning, so that she felt suddenly less out of place, like she’d returned somewhere right.

                “Baze!”

                She ignored Bodhi’s voice at first; he was somewhere in the ship’s mouth from the sound of it, but wasn’t calling for her or Cassian.

                “Hey, Baze! Pay up. You were wrong.”

                Somewhat disbelievingly, Jyn reluctantly pushed Cassian away a little, half turning to glare at Bodhi. She extracted herself from his arms as Baze walked up the ramp and handed a pile of credits to Bodhi with a world-weary sigh. After a moment’s muttering at his boots, Baze withdrew another handful of chits from his pockets and handed them to a grinning Chirrut.

                Jyn burst into the small group, covering Chirrut’s hand with one of hers and grabbing Bodhi’s wrist with another. “Give me that,” she told them.

                “No way, we won this fair and square,” Chirrut cajoled.

                “Give me it,” Jyn repeated, like she was trying to persuade an akk dog to drop its favourite bone.

                Bodhi relented first with a roll of his eyes. “I was going to buy some new flight gloves with that…”

                Chirrut also tipped the pieces into Jyn’s outstretched hand, but his smirk only widened. She tried to ignore it, and stuffed the credits into a synthskin pouch, tying the top and putting it into a compartment in the bulkhead with a slam. “That’s towards the next stopover,” she told them. “If I’m going to be your entertainment again, you can at least buy the rounds.”

                She wasn’t annoyed with them, but she was enjoying turning her own sense of discomfort back on Baze and Bodhi; Chirrut, typically, remained unfazed.

                “We weren’t,” Baze began, as Bodhi spoke over him: “It wasn’t …”

                Jyn flinched a little in surprise as a light touch approached the small of her back. Cassian leaned around her with an exaggerated look of shock. “You’ve been gambling? On an Alliance vessel?”

                “You played sabacc with us on _Home One_ ,” Bodhi protested automatically, though he had to suppress a smile.

                Cassian shook his head firmly. “That was undercover work. Now I’ve all the evidence I need.”

                Baze chuckled, “all right, all right. For the record, I’m glad I lost.” Chirrut elbowed him, and the tall man shrugged as Cassian and Jyn avoided everyone’s eye contact awkwardly.

                “Well! Someone should get Rhinzi,” Bodhi said, clapping his palms together breezily and adopting an air of ‘ _let’s move on, shall we?_ ’ “We’re following Nari to the asteroid, and we’ll want to send a report to Raddus on the way, I assume?”

                With murmured agreements, everyone milled about to get the ship ready for take-off. As Jyn settled in a flight chair, a mug of caf finally clasped in her hands, she reflected that things onboard still felt … normal. Like home. She wondered whether, after enough time, she might not be so surprised to realise this.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii I'm back! I'm ill! Last month was TOO BUSY. If any of this fails to make sense, please go easy on me, I'm delirious with flu. Thanks for your patience and encouragement - and honestly, there's a lot of writing to come tonight, it's just that I wrote it in bits and pieces and kept deciding to fill on more bits in the middle. It's not because I've deliberately not been uploading, I promise...

It wasn’t just Raddus’ form that flickered blue above _Rogue One_ ’s console. He barely noticed that he was doing it, but Cassian’s back had straightened minutely and his chin had taken a different angle as General Draven’s serious face appeared alongside the Mon Calamari.

                Their report had been received chaotically, first from an ensign who clearly couldn’t work out what their clearance level was, and therefore which explanation she should give them, and then from Raddus and a shifting parade of other senior members of the Alliance. Not one word had been said about why Draven was on board Raddus’ new command vessel, nor why Cracken, Ackbar and Madine were also there, but Draven’s stubborn presence just behind Raddus’ right shoulder was signal enough to Cassian. Whatever meeting had just taken place on board Raddus’ ship had involved most of the Council, and had set figures in the fleet and in intelligence into a quiet frenzy of action.

                Raddus himself merely hummed and nodded as they explained the situation, as Nari had relayed it thus far at any rate. But Draven leaned forward a little as Bodhi mentioned the technical capabilities of the twins, and Chirrut and Baze enthused about the sisters’ sacred texts.

                “Are there many ex-Imperials among them?” he finally interrupted. Raddus blinked one large eye up at him with a surprised tilt of his head.

                “Hm? Yes, quite, General. Don’t engage if you think there’s a chance they’re acting as bait. The Princess ran into quite a few complications on her own adventures, I’ve been informed.”

                “There’s always a chance,” Cassian shrugged. “And yes, the impression we’ve been given is that many used to work in Imperial offices on Coruscant. But,” he glanced at Jyn. “Their leader is someone whose intentions we are certain of. If any of them wanted to be found by the Empire, they’d have betrayed her by now.”

                “Who is she?” Draven didn’t miss a beat.

                “An old friend of my mother’s,” Jyn’s folded arms and low brows were defensive. “Nari Sable. She’s been living on Alderaan for years, but was off-world when it was destroyed. She’s mad as a rancor on spice, but she’s not an Imperial plant.”

                Cassian closed his eyes slowly for patience; he didn’t need to see Draven’s twitch. “We didn’t know she was involved until we got to Oseon VII,” he offered in a placatory tone.

                “Jyn’s part of the galaxy is just full of lots of weird coincidences,” Bodhi grinned at her.

                She narrowed her eyes but couldn’t quite repress a smirk in return.

                “The Force has brought them back together,” Chirrut laid a hand on her shoulder. “Just as it brought us at last to the remnants of our people.”

                Draven shot a look out of the corner of his eyes somewhere beyond the holocam’s pickup, then shifted a little. Much to Cassian’s curiosity, he forced the scepticism off his features. “Well, whatever got you there, there are certain parties who will be very pleased to know that you did get there.”

                “Yes,” Raddus reclaimed control of the conversation, slapping a flipper on his desk as though suddenly reminded of something important. “Yes, we want you to get down there to that asteroid then. I want a report on the status of the transport — whether it’s salvageable, and whether it could be of any use to us, spaceborne or as scrap. Captain Andor, your former commander tells me that you’ve just the skills for persuading recruits to the cause; in the absence of their Princess, you’ll have to take charge of convincing those Alderaanians to join the Alliance instead of wasting their time on some fossilised backwater.”

                Draven cleared his throat and fidgeted again, at which Raddus nodded exaggeratedly. “Of course, having said that, we are quite curious about Ossus, if it truly does still exist. Do you think you can reach its alleged location?”

                After a beat of silence, Bodhi squirmed excitedly on his chair. “Uh, yes. Yes sir. I believe I can, with the advice of R … uh, Rhinzi here.”

                Raddus’ eyes widened and Draven’s jaw bulged noticeably, but neither brought up the fact that Rhinzi was still meant to be in holding aboard _Home One_.

                “Good,” Raddus finally replied. “The Alliance has recently found it necessary to … expand its archival material related to the Jedi. Retrieve anything that you are able to from Ossus, but do not share it with this … Sable figure, nor the other refugees. And should you consider the planet strategically useful, we will expect a complete report on its resources, atmosphere and terrain.”

                “And as Captain Andor will convince the Alderaanians of the advantages of joining the Alliance, so I expect you three to convince the Jedhans,” Draven fixed Bodhi, Baze and Chirrut with his glare; he couldn’t quite bring himself to look directly at Rhinzi. “Galaxy’s got enough bloody pacifists in it as is …” he muttered to someone just beyond the pickup. Cassian caught a glimpse of a sleeve and a trouser leg: Cracken. He wondered who else was still listening in on the conversation, and why Draven was so keen for them to notice that others were in the room.

                “For now, General, I just want to see my people. I want to know what’s survived of our culture. I want to speak dialects that are now spoken by only a handful of people in this galaxy,” Chirrut’s smile had turned grim.

                “Of course,” Draven didn’t flinch. “But you’ll understand that those dialects stand their best chance of preservation with the support of the Alliance, and not left to their own devices on a remote, possibly vulnerable planet.”

                “We understand well enough,” Baze said testily. “Let’s meet the survivors before we speak for them, though.”

                Cassian hid his grimace; Draven still didn’t understand that with most of _Rogue One_ ’s crew he’d be better off adopting the conciliatory tone of a recruiting officer in the field instead of a superior who expected unquestioning obedience. He winced to think he’d ever tried a similar approach with any of them.

                Once they’d signed off, Baze laughed a sharp laugh and clapped a heavy hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “You’re going to use his tactics on the Alderaanians, little brother?”

                Cassian smirked drily as he looked up. “Sure, I learnt I everything I know from the man.”

                Baze laughed again.

                “They all seem pretty worked up,” Jyn mused, eyeing Cassian for his response.

                He was still getting used to the fact that, since whatever they’d decided that morning — that neither had sought to discuss since — every time she spoke he felt the blood rise to his neck and cheeks, as though her words were spoken just for him; as though they were accompanied by the touch of her fingers on his skin. He aimed for nonchalance, but struggled to meet her eyes with it, folding his arms tightly and shrugging at the view beyond the ship’s console. “There’s been a big meeting. Most of the Council, I expect.”

                “Ithor?” Jyn suggested. “Or … what did Raddus say about Chancellor Mothma? Something about her getting extra authority?” she glanced around the others.

                “It could be both of those things,” he agreed. “If Cracken and Raddus and Ackbar convinced her to take the Chancellor’s emergency powers, she could have authorised the defence of Ithor without the need of the rest of the Council’s approval. Assuming Ithor actually asked for help.”

                “You think the fleet’s going to go and chase off that star destroyer?” Baze asked, rubbing his beard and squinting at the asteroid field outside the viewport.

                “There’ll be more than the one by now,” Bodhi said glumly from the pilot’s seat. “The way we left, the Empire’s going to feel like their suspicions were confirmed. I just hope they’ve not moved beyond threats yet.”

                No one disagreed with him, and they steered towards the roiling colours of the gas cloud and asteroids in tense silence. Finally, as Bodhi approached one of the larger satellites for his orbit, Baze spoke again. “What do you people make of our new friends?”

                Cassian waited for a moment, but no one spoke, so he glanced back. Baze was looking at him and Jyn, who glanced at Cassian with a shrug.

                “I told you, I don’t really remember Nari. She must have been connected to my mother’s work, before she married. I guess she’s something of an explorer?” A frown flickered over her face. “Um, she said something about surveys. Geological stuff.”

                “But the others?” Baze pressed.

                Chirrut shifted and placed a hand on Baze’s arm. “It’s nothing, Baze, don’t worry about it.”

                Baze twisted himself in the small space to look down at Chirrut with a grunt. “It’s not nothing to me. Your instincts have never been wrong before you were told you had a direct connection to the Force — I don’t think they’re wrong now either.”

                “What is it?” Cassian pressed. Chirrut’s discomfort was unfamiliar, and he didn’t like it one bit.

                “It’s those twins,” Baze growled. “Asking a lot of questions.”

                “They were just curious about the Force,” Chirrut tried to soothe him. “They only saw the old Temple building on Coruscant for the first time recently. They’re interested. That’s all.”

                “Wanted to know what he could do,” Baze gestured at Chirrut, who sighed impatiently. “Could he read minds, change people’s thoughts, that kind of thing.”

                Cassian’s nerves relaxed again. He surveyed the two of them, and decided that this was a manifestation of Baze’s mother-hen attitude — an attitude Cassian had identified long ago, that had only been strengthened by their escape from Scarif, and then through Chirrut’s injuries and subsequent, tentative explorations of the Force. He smirked at Chirrut, “can you?”

                Chirrut grinned, the worried expression he’d had before now gone from his face; Cassian decided to chalk that one down to the Guardian’s own response to Baze’s fretting.

                “No, it’s more like … flashes of certainty about someone’s emotions. Fear, relief …” Chirrut shrugged and his smile turned wicked as his unseeing eyes flickered between Cassian and Jyn. “That sort of thing.”

                Jyn twitched angrily and Cassian gave Chirrut a scowl that the other man couldn’t see — though he hoped he sensed it, however that worked.

                “Yes, and you said the twins were afraid of something,” Baze continued.

                “And _you_ said you’d never make bets with me after that time in NiJedha with the speeder race … we all have lapses in judgement.”

                “Besides, would it really be strange if they were scared?” Bodhi offered over his shoulder, his eyes only darting briefly away from the pockmarked surface of the asteroid below. “They’re pretty young, their home planet’s just been destroyed, presumably with a load of their family. And now they’re caught up in some crazy flight across the galaxy to find a planet that was abandoned by an ancient religion they know nothing about.”

                Cassian turned back to the flight console and Baze offered a grumbling word or two of assent as he and the others climbed up to the hold to secure for landing. Cassian put the curious conversation out of his mind as he concentrated on the uneven, cave-punctured surface below them. The refugee transport was partially shielded from curious eyes by arches of rock that reached up from the asteroid’s surface: the remnants of a vast cave system or mine that had collapsed in on itself.

                The asteroid was large enough to retain a thin atmosphere, and he and Bodhi set _Rogue One_ down on a level tor, a short distance from the transport.

Cassian leaned back in the flight chair with a sigh. Soon, they’d have to head out across the low-gravity, low-oxygen surface and establish an approach that would simultaneously let them travel to Ossus and prevent as many as possible of the refugees from wanting to join them.

                He rubbed the skin around his eyes, thinking of Draven’s words. Whoever these Alderaanians and Jedhans were, convincing them of the benefits of joining the Alliance would be a task at once all too familiar and also so unlike any of his previous assignments. Like most people — like Nari, apparently — they’d probably gone along with the voyage to Ossus in the hope that they could outrun the madness the galaxy was sinking into, or lay low and hide from it. But unlike so many other contacts he’d had around the galaxy, these people had been divorced from normality in a more extreme way than most. Cassian wondered whether the decision to seek out a lost planet could be attributed to a form of collective shock, and felt something inside him twist uncomfortably even as he began to contemplate the ways that could be manipulated to his advantage.

                “What do you reckon? Try and convince Nari and her fanatics that a scouting trip in _Rogue One_ makes sense? Placate her by helping with as many repairs as possible in the meantime…?”

                Cassian dropped his hands and blinked at Bodhi. “Yeah, it’s a start. Fix everything except the thrusters to begin with. You’re happy to take charge of that?”

                “Sure,” Bodhi shrugged. He seemed relaxed, but Cassian could see excitement bubbling under the surface.

                “I think there’s time to meet everyone first, though,” he told Bodhi with a quiet smile. “Let’s find out who’s on board today, start the repairs tomorrow.”

                Bodhi tilted his head, looking at the cybernetic fingers of his right hand as he ran them along the edge of the console. “You know, when I was a kid, I was desperate to get away from there. Bored kid, with the misguided ambition of all bored kids: I was going to be the best fighter pilot in the galaxy.”

                Cassian exhaled with a quiet laugh.

                “That … didn’t quite go as planned. And I think I was always a bit ashamed to go back. But now I can’t …” Bodhi shook his head, loose strands of his dark hair shifting with the movement. “I know none of my family will be there. But it’s like … I guess it’s like I’ve been given a chance to go back home. Just to a small part, maybe only for a short while …” He glanced up and managed a rueful smile. “Sorry …”

                Cassian shrugged the apology off. “It’s okay.” As with Jyn earlier, he found himself unsure how to express his sincerity; he’d heard countless personal stories like the one Bodhi had just shared, and now he doubted that he could give a response that didn’t feel affected or disingenuous, even though he wanted to let Bodhi know that in his case, he found that he did care, he did want to know. Eventually, he opted for a bemused smile, squeezing Bodhi’s arm as he stood. “I guess you didn’t have much in common with Baze and Chirrut when you lived there …”

                Bodhi chuckled with nervous relief. “No, I don’t think so.”

                He followed Cassian out of the cockpit, to where the others were lounging on the flight chairs in the hold; only Jyn’s relaxed pose seemed fully natural, however. She shot Cassian a shy smile that nearly made him totter back down the access shaft when he noticed it.

                “Shall we go and make our introductions?” he asked the others.

                Baze nodded with satisfaction.

                “So, we want to persuade as many as possible that Ossus isn’t worth it; and those who won’t be persuaded of that should be told that we’ll lead a scouting mission there,” Jyn stood up and moved to his side, looking around the others’ expressions.

                “But tonight, we’re just going to make sure nothing sets alarm bells ringing. Assess the situation, figure out what repairs they need most, how we can help with supplies from Oseon if need be,” Cassian added.

                Jyn shrugged agreement, and they each took thick jackets to make the walk across the surface to Nari’s stolen transport. He and Jyn walked side by side, not trying to speak with the exertion of walking through the thin air, but sharing a companionable silence. When he reached out cold fingers to find hers, tucked within the long sleeve of her coat, he was warmed all over by the fact that she didn’t withdraw them from his touch.

                By the time they’d reached the transport, his other hand held firmly to his side, where his ribs stretched with a taut pain as he gasped the meagre atmosphere. Jyn stayed close to him, a watchful expression in her eyes; he thought it might have been the low oxygen levels that made him imagine it as almost protective though.

                Nari and one of the young twins — Roht, Cassian thought — opened the ship’s hatch and let their small group in. He was still trying to recover a steady breath that didn’t catch against his muscles when Marnoi appeared and offered to lead them on a tour of the transport. Nari explained that, as a ‘liberated’ commercial vessel, it had no communal area that would take all the refugees at once; meeting them room by room, corridor by corridor, was simplest when it grew too cold on the asteroid’s surface for outdoor gatherings, though smaller groups could assemble in the lounges.

                “We’ll get a chance to meet them soon enough,” Jyn encouraged Chirrut, Baze, Bodhi and Rhinzi. “Go and meet the Jedhans.” Gently, but firmly, she pushed Cassian back with splayed fingers on his breastbone, guiding him to a couch recessed into the ship’s corridors. Nari watched, her hands on her hips and eyelids lowered.

                “I’m fine,” he protested, but it came out as a barely audible wheeze, and he couldn’t meet Jyn’s expression of flat disapproval. “I’ll be fine,” he corrected himself, lowering the zip on his jacket so that its collar no longer pressed against his throat and chin. The ship’s warm air helped soften his breathing, but it still took a while before he felt ready to stand again.

                “Is your life-support down as well?” he asked Nari as he got to his feet.

                “We keep it on a low setting to preserve fuel,” Nari admitted. “Sensors are fried — navicomp, comms, scanners. We’ve been stuck here for a while already.” She sighed and wrinkled her nose. The longer they were in there, the more the smell of the ship dawned on Cassian’s senses: too many people, not enough air circulation. Nari surveyed them both. “Well, if you’d like, I can show you around some of the ship, I can take you to the cockpit where you’ll see exactly what’s out on the console?” Jyn and Cassian agreed, and followed Nari and the sullen, silent Roht in the opposite direction that the others had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh-hohohoho you thought everything would be all sweetness and light now we have an Item here? I'm sorry, I literally only do angst. If any jokes make it in here it's despite my natural inclinations, not because of them ;) and also because I find it really hard to deliberately write humour...
> 
> Oh yeah and I'm really sorry if a lot of this is boring, telling-not-showing, or repetitive. I'd like to blame the flu for all of that too, but it's probably a function of not really knowing what I'm doing, despite knowing where I want this to end up. Eventually.


	33. Chapter 33

The cockpit was as stuffy as the rest of the ship; the pilot and co-pilots’ hammocks were out, and blankets and personal items littered the seats and consoles. When Nari led them in, the other twin, Jorn, and an older man looked up from the tangled mess of wires they were poring over.

                “Captain, Jyn, this is Karid, the twins’ uncle,” Nari gestured vaguely, beginning to move around the cockpit shifting items so that the full array of the flight console was visible.

                Karid was pale in all respects: he had washed out, blonde-grey hair and waxy, almost translucent skin. His eyes glittered in the low light of the cockpit, but at their centre were dark, wide-blown pupils. Jyn searched for a family resemblance in the twins, who had soft, round faces, and mutable, light brown hair. The only evidence was their blue eyes, buts the twins’ were, like the rest of their outlines, soft compared to the sparkling grimness in Karid’s eyes.

                He nodded and turned back to the wires he and Jorn were disentangling, and Jyn noted Cassian’s raised eyebrows. Roht spotted their shared look too, and shuffled awkwardly towards his relatives, shifting a box of components in order to peer over their shoulders. He interjected in their work, pointing over Karid’s shoulder to suggest a particular red wire; his brother gave a sigh of realisation and grabbed it from Karid’s slow-moving hand, pulling it clear of the bundle to examine it.

                “You’re working on the propulsion controls?” Cassian asked gently, approaching as close as he could.

                All three of them looked at him sharply, but Roht nodded his head. “Getting moving’s been the priority. We don’t need comms; we didn’t want to be found by anyone,” his skin flushed a bit as he said this, but he tried to sound defiant. “Navigation’s useless for the asteroid field anyway, we’ll be navigating by sight.”

                Jyn watched Cassian’s eyes take in everything about the scene in front of him. His expression was soft, curious; he didn’t respond to Roht’s provocation.

                “But you’ll need some of the sensors?” he suggested.

                “Like what?” Karid finally spoke. His voice creaked as though it was little used by him.

                “He means the grav arrays, that’s all,” Jorn shouldered his uncle, his attention still fixed on the scored wire in his hands. Having satisfied himself of something, he looked up at Cassian with a little more confidence than his brother managed. “Right?”

                “Right. A ship this big won’t get through on visuals alone.”

                Jorn snorted. “We can get her through.”

                Watching the three of them, Jyn saw that Karid’s gaze ran only lightly over the surfaces in front of him. He picked up wires idly and had them batted out of his hands by Roht whenever his nephew noticed him do so. They’d not got their engineering capability from him then — or had he simply suffered some massive break following the news from Alderaan? Jyn sent a questioning look to Nari, who watched her regard the three Alderaanians. Nari shrugged and shook her head. When Cassian moved towards them again to make a suggestion about one of the components, Nari gestured for Jyn to follow her out of the cockpit.

                She let the door close behind them and Jyn tilted her head. “What’s his deal?”

                Nari’s eyes widened and she shrugged again, exaggeratedly. “Force only knows, he’s been like that ever since I met him when the twins brought him on board. Did you see his eyes?”

                Jyn nodded. “Spice?”

                Nari shook her head firmly. “No way, I’d know if we had that,” she swore in Huttese, “on board.” She sighed, and Jyn saw a reflection of the pity Nari had turned on her since their first encounter on Oseon VII. “I knew the twins’ family reasonably well, back on Alderaan. They were meant to be checking out the academy on Coruscant, getting the insider tour from Karid before they returned home to complete their applications.”

                “He worked in the _academy_?” Jyn thought of the man’s vague stare and tried to imagine the sharpness of knowledge her father had had lurking somewhere behind its veil.

                “Allegedly,” Nari pulled a face. “It’s what he told his sister, Jorn and Roht’s mother. Seems to me he lost his job there some time ago though.”

                “What’s he been doing since?”

                “He was a meteorologist on Coruscant,” Nari said brightly. “Worked in offices keeping an eye on the levels of pollutants in the atmosphere. He’ll actually be really useful to have with us when we get to Ossus. But I suspect some of the compounds he analysed have not been kind to his health.”

                Jyn scoffed. “So, you do realise Ossus might not be the unspoilt paradise you’re looking for,” she folded her arms, eyeing Nari with a hint of satisfaction.

                “Well, the rumours of its destruction must have started somewhere,” Nari gestured dismissively. “But they started many, many years ago. It may have recovered from whatever forced people to leave by now. Karid’s got some equipment that will help us figure that out, when we get there.”

                “You have a landing party in mind?” Jyn pressed.

                “Well yes, we’re not just going to take everyone down there and start reoccupying the Temples!” Nari laughed as though as much were obvious.

                “Who?”

                “Me, as I can pilot our shuttle and survey the planet’s resources. Karid to take samples — and the twins to help him. Marnoi thinks he has some information on the Jedi complex that used to be there, if we can get his droid up and running. And I suppose whichever representatives the Jedhans want to send.” She rolled her eyes. “Though I don’t think a single one of them has a scientific interest in the galaxy around them, they’re all philosophers and preachers and businesspeople. Still, a knowledge of the Whills might have some use for Jedi history too.”

                Jyn smiled at Nari’s grimace. “Maybe we can come to an arrangement for now, then. We’ll do all we can to get the transport up and running — to _our_ standards, not just so it can be ploughed on a one-way mission through the asteroid field. And then we’ll provide _Rogue One_ , its crew and facilities, for your scouting mission.” Nari opened her mouth to object, but Jyn’s tightened lips made her stop. “It makes sense to take a small ship through first, and you know it. We have weapons, we have better shields, so we can defend ourselves from small asteroids better, plus we’re more manoeuvrable. There’s no point doing further damage to the transport if you get there only to find Ossus is uninhabitable.”

                Nari shook her head. “Why?”

                “Maybe I’m hoping it will be uninhabitable, and then that you’ll see the sense of joining the Alliance,” Jyn shrugged.

                Nari grinned. “But you’re such a recent convert yourself; what are you doing working with them? You said they _wanted_ to kill Galen.”

                She let her gaze drop, immediately annoyed with herself when she did. But Jyn worked at the inside of her bottom lip with her teeth, searching for a response that would deflect Nari effectively. “I’m not doing this for anyone in their command structure. I’m doing this because I realised I’d been doing it my whole life anyway. It just might be a little more effective with access to better intelligence; to better resources.”

                Nari looked about to say something further when the door to the cockpit opened, and Roht’s grinning face appeared. “We’ve got the lights back!”

                The grimy surfaces of the cockpit were illuminated by harsh fluorescents now, and Cassian shrugged happily at Jyn’s grin when she entered. He dropped a hydrospanner back into the box of components by Jorn and Karid and made his way back around the chairs to her and Nari.

                “Should make the rest of the repairs easier; Bodhi’ll come up here tomorrow to help with that, he knows his way around a flight console better than I do.”

                Nari scrutinised him, but found the words “thank you, Captain,” through her suspicion. Jyn indulged herself in another small smirk at Cassian as the three of them returned down the ship’s corridor, Nari animatedly describing the inhabitants of each bunk they passed, until they reached a small, crowded lounge at the other end of the upper deck. There, Baze and Chirrut basked in the attention of their fellow Jedhans, Rhinzi sat quietly, enjoying the scene, and Bodhi talked animatedly on a couch in the corner with a middle-aged couple. Most of those in the room wore weary, but wide-stretched smiles; the chatter was soft, lilted with questions and gentle laughter.

                Most of the room’s inhabitants wore variations on the warm, comfortable clothing Jyn remembered from the streets of Jedha City, but one or two stood out in their formerly crisp, Coruscanti business-wear. The most flamboyant person in the room was a portly man with drooping moustaches and a shiny, bald head. He wore pale shimmersilk in whites and golds that showed the creeping stains at his armpits. He was flanked by two silent, eerie figures; possibly cyborgs, or droids with a synthskin coating. Jyn didn’t like to look too closely; they gave her the creeps. Instead, she settled primly on a spare space of couch next to Cassian, and wondered what to do with their newly admitted desire for physical closeness. She fidgeted, and tried to listen to the conversations around them, but she couldn’t quite catch the nuances of the dialects.

                When his conversation had reached a natural end, Chirrut switched back to Basic and he and Baze and Bodhi murmured introductions to Cassian and Jyn around the room. A soft-eyed, woman, with a honeyed, maternal voice, smiled at them and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees.

                “You are not from Jedha?” she coaxed.

                Jyn shrugged and shook her head, feeling Cassian make a similar gesture to her left.

                “Where were your homes?” the woman asked again.

                Jyn pulled a face and let her gaze slip from the woman’s piercing grey eyes. She looked at Cassian, who was frowning at a position on the deck between them and their questioner. Rolling the words around her head first, checking them to make sure she didn’t jab at the fresh wounds of those who had lost an entire home world, she finally offered: “I was born on Vallt. I’ve lived in a few places. But I don’t really have a home. Not outside the _Rogue One_ , anyway,” she swallowed as she managed to force the last words out. Her fingers and thumbs dug hard into her knees and the flesh of her thighs.

                Without looking at her, Cassian reached out to pry one of her hands free, squeezing it tightly in his own. “And I grew up on Fest,” he said, an admission dragged forth like a fingernail pulled. “But I haven’t been back since I was a child. I’ve not had one home since then. Just the Rebellion. Kaytoo. And then this crew,” he allowed, his tight grip making Jyn’s fingers speckle pink and white.

                The woman tilted her head and gave Nari a bemused smile when she barked a laugh from the doorway, her arms folded and eyes fixed on Cassian and Jyn.

                “What’s the joke?” Baze asked her testily. Jyn shot him a furtive, appreciative smile for the defensive way his shoulders had tensed.

                Nari smiled back without shame, her eyes twinkling mischievously. She looked almost girlish for a moment. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s silly. But Vallt and Fest are two Outer Rim ice worlds that were torn to shreds over mining concerns by the Separatists.” She shrugged around her folded arms and regarded Jyn. “It’s a big galaxy for a coincidence like that. One might be tempted to say it had something to do with the Force.”

                “Outer Rim ice worlds?” Bodhi repeated playfully. “No idea what significance that has.”

                Jyn sent him a glare and he chuckled around a sheepish grin.

                Cassian concentrated on Nari still. “And what about you? You’re not from Alderaan.”

                “I’m not,” Nari agreed. “I’m a traveller too.” She bit back on something; Jyn expected that she’d been about to add something glib about feeling at home wherever she went, but she’d evidently decided against it.

                “Well, it sounds as though you’re as in need of Ossus as we are, anyway,” the other woman said warmly.

                Chirrut raised a palm before Jyn could respond. “We might find we all need more than a new patch of soil to lay claim to, Ru’hta,” he said lightly. “First we need to see if this transport can be saved.”

                Jyn felt Cassian twitch with gratitude next to her. She let herself draw his hand onto her lap, taking it between both of hers as she watched Chirrut fend off the protests of the rotund, moustached man in shimmersilk. She drifted in and out of the continuing chatter, last night’s brief, alcohol-hampered sleep catching up with her and dragging at her eyelids. The warmth of Cassian’s palm, and the pillowy surface of the arm of his jacket lulled her into an intermittent doze, as all the while she told herself that she was in control, she could wake up and sit up and let go of that connection at any time it was necessary.

                She woke up quickly enough at his gentle shake of her arm some time later. Figures were standing and stretching and milling past them, but his face was close; she could feel his hair tickle her forehead, felt a tightening of something in her chest when she opened her eyes to stumble her gaze straight into his gentle brown stare. There was that dimple by his mouth again; those amused webs of lines around his eyes.

                “We’re going back to the ship,” he said softly.

                “Yeah, good,” she breathed. Then — why not? — she let her lips cover the quirk at the edge of his mouth and shivered a bit as he ran fingers through her hair, smoothing it behind her right ear. For a fleeting moment, she considered finding out whether the transport had any private bunks left, but she squashed the query and the heat that rose with it speedily, remembering the lived-in looking cockpit, and wrenching self-control back.

                She trailed down the corridor after him, rubbing her eyes and telling herself that she was just tired, that she’d find some appropriate level of nonchalance about whatever they’d decided to try and be, just as soon as she’d had a chance to sleep properly. Still, as she watched his rolling gait and imagined the shape of his legs through the baggy material of his trousers, she feared that nonchalance might remain elusive; not least as they were all stuck in the confined space of _Rogue One_ together until after Ossus.

                Cassian tried to refuse the light enviro filter Nari offered him as they left, but Jyn jabbed him in his uninjured side with a sharp fingertip. “Take it. I’m not kriffing carrying you if you black out on the way back.”

                Minutes later, shivering in _Rogue One_ ’s hold, Jyn surveyed Bodhi, Chirrut and Baze’s cheerful faces and drew a sigh of relief as she shrugged off her heavy coat. The usual routines were followed; they each trailed in and out of the ‘fresher and settled in their own bunks; she shared a knowing shrug with Cassian as she climbed onto her own narrow mattress above Bodhi’s bunk. She swore internally at his raised eyebrows and smirk as she shuffled under the blankets though, wishing that when he looked at her now, she couldn’t feel the sparks of every previous touch they’d shared; ghostly sensory echoes making her skin turn to gooseflesh and her jaw clench. Jyn inched folds of the scratchy covers up over her shoulders and curled in on herself, face to the bulkhead, soothed by the thrum of the ship’s life-support.


	34. Chapter 34

Days — whatever that meant from a tumbling hunk of rock in the asteroid field — dripped by like condensation on a window. When the surface of the asteroid tilted in the direction of Oseon’s bright sun, the light was a cold, still grey, casting deep shadows behind every divot and rock in the surface of the old mining outpost.

                The crew of _Rogue One_ moved among the stranded crowd of Alderaanians and Jedhans, listening and soldering and commiserating and laughing as needed. Bodhi and Jorn worked systematically through the transport’s console, with Jyn and Baze occasionally clambering to some external patch on the ship’s hull, confirming or denying Bodhi’s questions over the comm.

                Chirrut and Rhinzi stayed largely among the Jedhans, who pontificated on the Force and its will, and whose curiosity was gradually piqued by Chirrut’s tales of Luke Skywalker’s luminous presence, of his own newfound recognition of the sense that went beyond his body. Was Ossus still as appealing, when there might once more be real, living Force-users in the galaxy again?

                Cassian immersed himself among the Alderaanians. Names, backgrounds, stories of people lost, stories of lies the Empire had told — but they never thought their work really had anything to do with those stories they heard! Weren’t they all exaggerated by the Rebels anyway? If something had happened, it was criminal gangs who provoked the Empire’s response, wasn’t it? These things only happened in the Outer Rim, or far from the stability of the Empire, far from the stability of their lives. Keep your head down, take the salary the Empire pays, say it’s fine because you’re sending it home, it’s going to be used by people who have nothing to do with the Empire. It’s rebellion enough, isn’t it? To take their credits and put them into a college fund for the kids, or save to buy a house by the Istabith forest when you retire back home — what could be more distant from the Empire’s own intentions? What could possibly undermine them more than that?

                Nari had said that most of the Alderaanians were ex-employees of the Empire. People who’d been working on Coruscant for years. Nari had also said that they wouldn’t trust the Alliance, but in most of them Cassian saw the blank shock of people who were finally ready to hear a different tale.

                As he learnt their names and their stories, Cassian wreathed himself in a familiar, fixed smile of understanding. He dusted down disbelief at the true nature of the Empire and he led those he talked to slowly, quietly down the paths he’d cleared before; it was a lot easier when they didn’t have a home to distract them from the conclusion that active resistance was a better option than quietly ignoring the Empire and hoping that it would eventually just … disappear from their lives.

                He repaired their droids and their datapads, most of which had been fried by the EMP blasts of stormtrooper crowd control, and he worked on corrupted data for them: holos of lost family members and recordings of bands whose music would never be heard live again. He tucked himself away, small and distant under the crushing weight of other peoples’ losses, of their need to talk, to publicly remember what they’d lost. It was never enough: they always needed to say more, to be shocked again and again at the unfairness of it all.

                Cassian nodded and agreed and longed for Bodhi’s word that the repairs were complete, or for a transport to take the refugees to the fleet, or the new base, to somewhere they could find more sympathetic ears to tell their stories to, to someone who’d be able to take each one to heart, to return a depth of compassion that he couldn’t afford. He’d heard it all before so many times; but now each account ended in the same way: with a burst of green and heat and radiation at the end of the story.

                He envied Jyn; she’d never had to compromise herself in this way. She rebuffed attempts to offload tragic stories, and instead focussed on the legends surrounding the asteroid field. With the more vulnerable refugees, she tentatively used her own experience: running never got you far enough. Rebellion might offer something more.

                If she noticed his retreat, his disappearance into an avatar for Alliance recruitment, she said nothing. And he was glad of it; it made the work easier, made it easier to keep whatever scared, small thing they’d admitted to on Oseon VII on hold. Set aside, waiting to be addressed when — if —the future allowed.

                For now, unlabelled, unscrutinised, it — whatever they were — just meant that he’d make two mugs of caf instead of one. Sometimes, when he thought to touch her arm to draw her attention, or to rub a smudge of grease off her face, he’d follow through with the action, and sometimes, timidly, she’d reach out in a similar way. But work to be done — repairs to the transport and its passengers — kept them from questioning themselves. Cassian, who suspected he’d let more than a few relationships slip through his fingers, along with contacts who’d gone silent over the years, let the situation lie. Pressing too hard now would only result in other kinds of frustration, anyway.

                Working on droids at least kept his mind blank of other thoughts. It was methodical, careful work that required his concentration, and he could justify sending the droids’ owners far away while he did the work. Sometimes Roht joined him, learning new things about the intricate ways droid mechanics fitted together, getting over his annoyance at having been found by the pursuing Rebels, but today, Cassian was glad to be alone.

                He was sitting on a layer of tarp outside the passenger liner, surrounded by the components of an MV nanny droid. Although the atmosphere was thin and his ribs ached dully, if he sat still then breathing was easy enough, and the peace outdoors was worth it. His fingers were covered in electrical grease and in the brown, stale blood he’d had to clean off the model. It had received a blaster shot to its chassis, and he rummaged now and then in a box of spare wires and chips, trying to establish the most parts-efficient way to get the machine working again.

                Cassian didn’t hear the crunch of boots on the asteroid’s gravelly surface, but Jyn positioned herself on a rock directly in front of him. He glanced up, feeling the tug on his concentration. He couldn’t work on the droid and have her sit there watching him, not for long.

                She picked up the droid’s headpiece and stared into its dimmed viewing sensors. “Nanny droid,” she muttered, trying to cajole him into conversation.

                He grunted assent and tried to recover the calculations he’d been working on regarding how much wire the repairs would need.

                “I had one of these, growing up,” she said when he didn’t respond further, and it was now too much to ignore; she didn’t talk about herself. Not without a reason.

                “You had a nanny droid?” he cocked an eyebrow at her, his fingers turning the frayed ends of a copper wire over and over.

                Jyn fidgeted. She looked torn between berating herself for having mentioned it, and the need to keep talking. The element of the latter made him heartsick; he was too saturated with the stories of others, he couldn’t give hers the care he’d otherwise want to. He wouldn’t be able to respond in the way he should, not now.

                Eventually, she chose to read disbelief in his expression and responded with a prickly, “yes.” She put the head down, but continued to look at it. “Yes, when we were on Coruscant. We lived pretty well, for a while.”

                She let him return to his work in silence for a time, but he was aware of her gaze running over all the parts. Eventually, it settled on the box of rags he’d cleaned the unit with.

                “There aren’t any young children on the ship,” she said. Her voice was soft, but a core of cold steel ran through the words. “Why does someone want a nanny droid repairing?”

                His hands stopped their movement, and he stared at the components in his grip. “Recordings. Memories. The droid was carrying the child when they got caught up in one of the protests.”

                Jyn nodded a little too quickly, still looking at the rags. She couldn’t repress a shudder that tormented her shoulders, even as she reached around to grip her knees to her chest. Cassian recalled that intelligence had suspected Krennic had pursued her family off Coruscant; maybe she was thinking how easily the droid could have been her droid; the blood could have been hers, nearly two decades ago.

                He’d finally decided to put down the pieces of the droid and go to her when she stood, brushing her trousers down. She scuffed her boots in the dusty gravel, looking at the ground with a dazed, lost expression that he recalled seeing slip over her face when Draven had pinned her real name to her, back in that briefing room on Yavin IV. “Sorry.” She said defensively. “I just needed to get out of the ship.”

                Cassian unfurled his own legs slowly, rubbing his fingers on another scrap of cloth. He stepped around pieces of droid but hesitated before touching her with his stained hands. “Nari again?” he asked.

                Jyn didn’t say anything, but the furious expression that gusted over her face told him enough. Although she was free of the testimonies that were weighing him down, Nari’s continued attempts to impart her memories of Lyra and Galen Erso were looming over Jyn in a similar manner. That must have been what had put her in a reflective mood, too. And despite her pride, she’d come to this patch of the asteroid’s silent, barren surface to escape the nuisance, or to process it.

                Her hunched shoulders were directed at him, but as she felt him approach she half-turned, her face now a scowl of self-reproach. She tried to twist her lips into a tough smirk, but her eyes were round, doubting, made bigger by the fact that she needed to look up at him. She ironed out the attempted levity in her mouth when she saw his expression clearly, and Cassian tried not to react to the spring of warmth that swelled in his chest, his heart pumping faster as he apprehended that she knew exactly what he’d been doing in his discussions with all the Alderaanians; that she saw him shrinking away from meaningful contact, flinching at the repeated demands on his empathy. She saw and she didn’t interfere, but she watched carefully from afar. And now, he felt like he’d been pinned under the beam of a searchlight.

                “Nari’s just grieving, like everyone else here,” he told her softly around the pressure in his upper chest, hoping to deflect her scrutiny of him.

                Jyn turned a little more, so that she almost faced him. “I don’t think I ever realised how selfish grief was,” there was a self-mocking sparkle in her eyes, the brightest spark of colour between him and the asteroid’s grey, washed-out horizon. She studied him for a moment and then stepped away, leaving the air colder around him. “I’ll go and see how Bodhi’s doing. We’re nearly there,” she called over her shoulder. “That’s probably the last droid you’ll have to fix here.”

                Gratitude unfurled inside him as his gaze followed her. There was no pity on her face when she glanced back, just a hard, anxious awareness of what staying there was doing to them, how everyone was stewing in grief and circular arguments of denial and reproach.

                He watched her trudge back over the grey, uneven ground towards the ship. When he turned back to the scorched, frayed pieces of the MV droid the blank slate of concentration returned with more ease; he could keep his imagination at bay with the promise that this was the last job he’d do today. With the promise that Jyn had noticed his distance, and that as he’d drifted, waiting for extraction, she’d stepped in to decide that the work here was done. It was time to move on.

…

That night, with the repairs on the transport due to be completed the next day, relief washed over _Rogue One_ ’s crew. In the hold of the ship, picking at nutrient bars in the dim internal lights, they exchanged quiet words about the people they’d at last caught up with.

                Bodhi chuckled drily: “There’s a guy who says he knew my dad. Well, he met him. Dad sold him a speeder once.”

                “Your dad sold speeders?” Jyn’s question had none of the spikes or bitterness that so often covered her manner. She sat against the bulkhead, one leg loosely sprawled in front of her, her shoulder a comfortable inch or so from Cassian’s.

                “Yeah, sort of. They were pieces of junk he’d repaired with other pieces of junk. Not exactly safe for human transport…”

                “How were they different from any other speeders on NaJedha, then?” Baze snorted.

                “Oh, the sales pitch. That was worth the price alone,” Bodhi smiled, gazing wistfully at the bulkhead. “Dad could sell fortunes to the Guardians, we used to say …” he grinned apologetically at Chirrut. “Force, he’d probably have managed to sell a speeder to you, Chirrut.”

                Chirrut’s eyes were closed and his smile was broad; he nodded appreciatively. “If only I had travelled to that part of the city, I’m sure he would have.” He sighed. “There are so few of us from the Temple.”

                Baze squeezed Chirrut’s hand in his and leaned against him. “We’re not usually known as the travelling type. At least Halla and Jesma have our texts. The Whills aren’t lost.”

                “But can you believe that wannabe-satrap, bringing his … his … those _things_ with him,” Bodhi clenched a fist.

                One of the Jedhans had been a wealthy official attached to the spaceport; he’d likely bribed Imperials in order to be allowed leave to come and go from the planet, and when the Death Star had fired, he’d been luxuriating on Coruscant, with the servants he’d brought from his home world. He was the sweaty, balding man in shimmersilk who had most loudly challenged Chirrut during their first encounter with the Jedhans. He evidently hoped to find a position of leadership for himself in whatever new colony was established.

                The man’s servants were what Baze had identified as the ‘Decraniated’; human bodies kept alive by a flat, boxy interface that replaced the upper halves of their skulls. Someone in the city had been producing them in the months before the Death Star’s strike; they had been civilians and partisans, and even stormtroopers who’d been injured in the turmoil on Jedha. But now they were obedient husks; soft-skinned droids without the backchat.

                “He’s a piece of work,” Cassian muttered. He’d been contemplating how to separate the man from his servants; even if they weren’t aware of their state, it made him sick to see their bodies perform as puppets for another.

                Jyn nodded. “You don’t think he might be a risk to the rest? He seems like the kind of guy who’d sell out every survivor he could in return for amnesty for himself.”

                Chirrut’s amusement was grim: “he tried. They’d bugged and blocked his comms; Marnoi impersonated an Imperial officer and replied ‘thanks for the information, we’ll blow you and all your scum friends out of the sky’.” He continued over Baze’s guffaws, “He went straight to the cockpit, stumbling over his apologies and warning them, and to this day still doesn’t know his message never got out at all.”

                “Guess they can’t all be saints,” Baze wheezed over the rest of the crew’s laughter.

                “Had any more weird vibes from anyone?” Jyn didn’t need to name Chirrut for him to know he was being addressed.

                “No more than you’d expect. They’re tired, and sad, and scared. But I think our suspicions about Ossus are correct. There’s a new feeling since we arrived; more hope than before. People are responding well to the idea of the Rebellion’s help. The Alderaanians are excited to know their Princess still lives.”

                “And Jorn’s been a great help with the repairs,” Bodhi added. “His brother’s been helping you too, right Cassian?”

                Cassian nodded. “He doesn’t talk much. I think he’s as attached to the idea of Ossus as Nari is.” He held onto the next words for a moment, contemplating his grease-scored knuckles atop his knees. “Something about it doesn’t ring quite true to me though.”

                “How so?” Bodhi sounded protective of the boys.

                He sighed, flicking an apologetic look over Bodhi’s face. “It’s something for their uncle, not them.”

                Baze scoffed. “That spice-head? Would he even know what planet he was on if you told him?”

                “Ugh he keeps trying to help rewire the console and he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing!” Bodhi exclaimed with a roll of his eyes.

                Cassian shook his head and shrugged. “It’s the only explanation I can come up with. They’re so protective of him, but that fear you felt, Chirrut?” the guardian nodded. “I see it too, it’s like they’re waiting for something, constantly on edge.”

                Chirrut leaned his head back against the bulkhead and narrowed his eyes. “But Karid himself?” he fixed Cassian with his unnerving, pale stare.

                He rubbed his eyes with grimy fingers. The silent, shock-haired old man was the only Alderaanian Cassian hadn’t managed to get a handle on. He drifted from place to place, watching their repairs, watching others’ interactions, all with the same frozen frown of misunderstanding. There was some sort of underlying thought-process in the man’s actions, he was sure, but it was buried deep below a shell of trauma. “No idea. Perhaps it’s how the shock’s affected him?”

                “So you think he’s latched onto some unfeasible idea of getting to Ossus, encouraged by Nari saying his skills will be needed, and the twins can’t help but humour him even though they know it’s a pointless trip?” Jyn looked between them both.

                He gave her a hopeless shrug.

                Chirrut just fidgeted and frowned more deeply. “I can’t figure him out either; it’s like layer upon layer of static. I’ve never encountered anything like it — not even in NiJedha’s spice addicts,” he said to Baze, who raised his eyebrows sceptically.

                “You know Nari wants him in her landing party?” Jyn warned.

                Bodhi scoffed and rolled his eyes, whilst Baze grunted in disapproval.

                “He’s a liability…” the pilot muttered.

                Rhinzi sighed deeply. “If I may … I think he may have more in common with us than you all suspect.”

                Cassian repressed the urge to exchange a sceptical look with any of the others; no one else but Chirrut made the same effort.

                “Surely Captain, you have heard from the stories of the Alderaanians: the Empire is not a good employer. Karid had a good job in the academy, one that he was forced from. He’s been working in a sector far beneath his scientific knowledge for years now, bored and frustrated and unable to leave.”

                Jyn’s sudden twitch in response to this caught his eye, and Cassian glanced at her. She frowned thoughtfully into middle distance as she turned her crystal pendant over in her fingers. All he could get in return for his questioning look was a wan smile, however.

                “I’ve a pretty clear picture of what kind of employer the Empire is, yes,” Cassian muttered. “But you’ve spoken to him about this?”

                “Yes, just a little,” Rhinzi nodded his head, his balding scalp shining in the dim light as he did so. “There are not many of us on board whose memories reach back into the peace that came before The Emp … Chancellor Palpatine’s rule.”

                “Let’s see if he gives a good account of himself when we meet for the briefing,” reasoned Jyn. “If not, I’m sure his nephews can do the tests on Ossus’ atmosphere that Nari wants.”

                “And if he does end up coming with us, Baze will keep an eye on him” Chirrut grinned up at Baze’s begrudging smirk.

                Rhinzi smiled hopefully and slowly pushed himself out of the flight chair he’d perched on. His movement triggered a response from the others; Baze yawned, and Chirrut also got to his feet. As people milled around the hold, tidying things away and retrieving personal items, Chirrut drifted over to Cassian and laid a warm hand on his arm. He leant close and kept his voice low. “None of us needs to become saturated with the emotions of those who’ve ended up here. You think you’re keeping it out, Cassian, but you aren’t. You can’t take it all on, and you don’t have to.”

                He flinched in surprise as Chirrut’s use of his name rather than his rank. The Guardian had already moved away, following Baze into the lower deck, and leaving Cassian alone with Jyn. She smiled distractedly as she gathered up her sleeveless jacket from the floor, but paused when she saw his face. “What was that about?”

                He shook his head and shrugged. “Nothing,” came the reply of habit.

                Jyn regarded him with a familiar expression; her eyes went straight through his practiced mask of nonchalance and her lips flattened into a disbelieving line. As ever, she didn’t push for an explanation, but this time, after a fluttering movement of her hand, which she withdrew once, before finally deciding on the gesture, she reached up and planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth, lingering longer than she had when he’d woken her back on their first night on the asteroid.

                His surprised smile spread under her lips and he caught her and kissed her back, plunging into the distraction from his own thoughts. Not for the first time in the last days, he wished the ship wasn’t so small, with its communal living areas and echoing durasteel surfaces. Jyn appeared to feel similarly; one hand was still on his neck and the other gripped his shirt; she must have been standing on tiptoes to be able to press herself against him the way she did.

                “I hope Rhinzi’s right about us being able to get through that asteroid field,” Jyn murmured against him.

                “And back again,” Cassian agreed. He kissed her again to push the possibility of some unexpected, pointless death in the middle of the nebula out of his mind. The thought of it simultaneously enraged him and made his joints ache with fear — they’d survived skies under the Death Star three times, the idea of being swept away by an accidental collision with an asteroid was too cruel, and with it the underlying fear was more powerful than any he’d felt in years. It made him sick, but came with a reckless rush of adrenaline whenever Jyn was this close to him, like when she’d looked at him, propped up by nothing but endorphins and stubbornness at the top of Scarif’s archive tower.

                He thought about asking her what Rhinzi’s words had reminded her of, when he’d spoken of Karid and his academic employment, but it didn’t seem like the right time to pry anymore. Not after she’d come to talk to him earlier only to find him so distant and prickly amid the parts of the MV droid. Instead he allowed his fingers to trace the edge of her collar, half brushing her skin, half smoothing rough cotton. They traced the cord of her necklace, and he shivered in surprise when his touch found the crystal, as warm as her skin beneath his fingerprints.

                Her eyes were unreadable when she looked up at him, green as the surface of Ithor, deeper and stranger than the forest paths they’d barely glimpsed there. She covered his hand with one of her own though and guided his fingers over the aurebesh characters carved on her pendant. Her parted lips almost let a conspiratorial smile past her watchful expression, and then she slipped through his grip, drifting past him like smoke as she stalked towards the ship’s ladders.

                Cassian remained there, looking after her thirstily for a moment. He tried to focus on the feeling of the letters on her pendant, rubbing the tips of his thumb and forefingers together. He couldn’t reach their meaning though; the heat of the crystal just made him conflate the feeling of the text with the ridge of her collarbone as he’d swept his fingers along the line of her shirt, with the contours of her he could feel through her hair and clothes. He thought he’d retreated from it all, following his usual field methods, shutting out connections; but he realised she’d not been shut out where he’d intended. She’d been there with him, sharing the crawl space he’d carved out for himself; maybe she’d been there all along, but he’d only found her recently.

                Cassian shook his head, trying to jolt himself out of such unfamiliar thoughts. He switched off the ship’s lights, following the rest of the crew down into the lower deck.              


	35. Chapter 35

Jyn sat at the top of _Rogue One_ ’s landing ramp, cleaning her blaster with a scrap of synthskin. She tucked her chin into the warmth of her large jacket and squinted at the pair of figures between their ship and the transport. Only the first words between them had reached her ears through the vapid atmosphere of the asteroid: “are you pleased with yourself, Captain?”

                She saw Nari gesture expansively, her hands leading the rising notes of her voice. Jyn also scanned Cassian’s body language to see his fingers flex at his side, his hand raise every now and then to his healing ribs. He kept his voice down and his movements minimal, trying to avoid Nari’s provocations.

                They’d received a transmission from a Rebel transport in the early hours of the morning; and so had the refugee ship, with its newly repaired comms system. Raddus had, at the urging of the Princess of Alderaan, rerouted a transport vessel to Oseon post-haste. It was under the command of a woman who was under no illusions about Leia’s orders: save everyone aboard that ship from the foolhardy journey through the asteroids. Most passengers were thrilled, but Nari was the most vociferous member of a small number who were furious at what some were calling the ‘hijacking’ or ‘kidnap’ of their mission.

                Nari was no fool, however; she kept those who took her side close and didn’t vent her frustrations at those who were relieved to finally have the opportunity to move on. Nari didn’t even complain to the Guardians, whose faith intrigued her, nor to Bodhi, who was too easy-going and helpful to annoy her, nor to Jyn. No, Nari saw something glinting, half-exposed in Cassian’s acquiescent way with the other Alderaanians; Jyn saw it too, she recognised the demeanour of someone who was trying to get a particular response, recognised the way he used himself sparingly in interactions with others; she remembered how angry it had made her after Eadu, and how different he’d looked when he’d emerged into himself on Scarif.

                He was the Rebel spy all over again now, and no one was easier for Nari to blame for what she saw as the deliberate sabotage of her plans.

                Jyn considered going down there, telling Nari to back off. She sighed through her nose and glared down at her blaster instead, rubbing the greasy synthskin cloth into the dusty bay that held the power-pack. She’d told him she’d forgiven him for Eadu, back in that bar on Oseon VII. And then she’d been cruelly glad at his reply, that he hadn’t forgiven himself. She knew none of it was as simple as forgiveness; when she tried to think of Eadu she just felt an increasing hollowness, as though the shock of it was only slowly creeping up on her, the memory of her father’s last words — “I have so much to tell you…” — ringing in her ears between Nari’s alien memories of a man Jyn didn’t know.

                She was relieved when Bodhi came to sit by her, but realised as he watched Nari and Cassian that he wasn’t going to prove much of a distraction.

                “I guess your mum must have been a patient woman,” he finally mused.

                Jyn raised an eyebrow and grimaced, and Bodhi had the graciousness to look shocked at himself and cover his lips with a set of fingers. “Oh, sorry,” he muttered. He’d been much happier sharing his own memories of his family since meeting the Jedhans on Nari’s ship, and now his round, guilty eyes made Jyn relent with a twisted smile.

                “I don’t think Nari would recognise the man you met as my father,” she admitted, shifting the focus away from her mother. She thought about adding _maybe Galen Erso died on Lah’mu as well_. But then she thought of his soft, sad eyes under the battering rain of Eadu, and she couldn’t quite push the words out.

                “He was still a good man,” Bodhi said firmly. “I reckon he’d have a thing or two to say about her principles, that he wouldn’t have said before when she knew him.”

                Bodhi looked embarrassed now, worried that he’d overstepped some salted, protective line she’d laid. But Jyn’s smile was softer than her first one, and made the apologetic pink in his cheeks deepen. “She means well too,” she said grudgingly, glancing over at Nari and Cassian again. Cassian was walking carefully back towards the ship, head down and hands determinedly not going to his side to show the effect of the exertion on his body. Nari walked a pace or two behind him, face and palms briefly aimed heavenward as she exclaimed something. Jyn’s jaw tightened. “But unless she shuts up I’m going to have her gagged for the trip to Ossus.”

                She stood as Cassian reached the foot of the ship’s ramp, meeting the resentment and fury in his dark eyes. His breathing was heavy, but not as laboured as it had been on their first days on the asteroid.

                Jyn did a good job of convincing herself that a touch of someone’s hand here; the right kind of kiss there; these physical connections were just that: the public, external display of caring, or solidarity, or supportiveness, or whatever was necessary at that time to make the other person stop threatening to burden her with their messy, internal turmoil. But Cassian never threatened to do such a thing; or hadn’t yet. So she told herself it was even simpler than that; what did she want except the feeling of skin against skin? The delayed gratification that would come at the end of this mission, wherever, however it ended.

                The light in his dark pupils was the same fire she recalled when he’d lent, dripping and cold with rage towards her in the hold after Eadu. Jyn folded her arms across her stomach, as though the hunger she felt was about to rumble audibly from her body. She stepped into his path with a minute shake of her head. “It’s not worth it,” she murmured, her eyes flicking down to where Nari also approached the ramp. “We’ll just take whoever doesn’t want to go with the Alliance to Ossus; they can stay there if they want!”

                She took in the gradual softening of his features, marvelling at the way the deep lines of annoyance smoothed into near-invisibility. He bit his lower lip as he considered her, and she tucked her own into her mouth jealously. She felt a stab of triumph that such a simple intervention had wrought such a change on his face.

                “I’d rather leave them here…” he murmured so softly that Nari couldn’t hear the words even as she prowled onto the ship behind him. Bodhi moved awkwardly away from them to tell Nari about all the positive sides of their forthcoming flight.

                Jyn gave him a hard-lipped smile and squeezed Cassian’s arm like she had as they’d descended through the shield-gate above Scarif. The smile faltered a little when she noted a flash of something else in his expression: like a jolt of electricity arcing from surface to surface, she felt his fear as much as she saw it. He’d never have admitted that he didn’t think Bodhi and Rhinzi could get them through the asteroid field, but she knew with certainty that he’d rather just have returned to the fleet now. Retreating from the sensation of vertigo, from the danger of being dragged into someone else’s emotional depths, Jyn stood on tiptoes to plant an uncertain kiss on his lips and then turned, fleeing towards the caf station to prepare drinks for the others who were expected on board.

                He watched her vaguely as she did so, but seemed too distracted to mind her sudden withdrawal.

                In the gloom of the hold, Nari nodded abruptly at Bodhi’s enthusiastic explanations, frowning at the datapad that he refused to keep still between enthusiastic gestures. They’d agreed that Nari’s proposed landing party — by default, now those who did not want to go with the Alliance transport that had arrived — would come to _Rogue One_ to discuss getting to Ossus, and that they were welcome to stay when the crew called in their plan to the commander in the rebel transport above them. As to how they’d fulfil Draven and Raddus’ orders that neither Nari nor the others should be told about any Jedi artefacts they found, Jyn didn’t know; she supposed that even if Nari and the others knew their objectives, they’d just lie to the commanders on their return.

                Soon enough they were joined by the Alderaanian twins and their uncle, Marnoi and a battered R5 unit, the sisters Halla and Jesma, and the Jedhan mogul, Nidram, and his eerie assistants.

                The sisters seemed to have been elected as representatives of the whole Jedhan contingent on Nari’s ship, and were curious but noncommittal about the possibility of settling on Ossus. Nidram, on the other hand, seemed to think it was somewhere between an investment opportunity and a power-grab; he also seemed to think that the rest of them would assign more weight to his words than they did.

                Marnoi’s interests were archaeological, but he was also more of a mind with Nari than most; he clearly liked the idea of forging a new society as some sort of academic experiment. His newly repaired droid brought his notes and records, and he was never to be seen more than a few feet from it, usually standing close enough to rest a protective hand on its green and white head. The twins looked as uncomfortable as ever, and Karid’s eyes were as wild and lost as always.

                Jyn surveyed them with relief, noting that none of them seemed as frustrated as Nari had outside the ship — none except the mogul, Nidram, and the more he blustered, the more he lost the sympathy or interest of the others. The rest of them seemed content to have a more immediate interest in the planet, its current status, and what had befallen it to make the rest of the galaxy forget it still existed.

                Bodhi and Rhinzi took the lead in the briefing, explaining what they did — and didn’t — know about Ossus and the way to get to it. Nari interjected with her own interpretations of Mowna’s information, but she seemed broadly mollified by the level of Bodhi’s knowledge. Rhinzi exuded confidence about the possibility of reaching Ossus, and Jyn noticed that Bodhi’s eyes had taken on the hard, bright quality she remembered when he’d told her and Cassian how he’d tried to contain the grenade thrown at him on Scarif. He’d made up his mind to face the challenge head-on, and nothing now was going to deter him.

                All they knew about the planet were the legends connected with the Jedi: rumours that a temple and a library had once been on Ossus, the memories of those who had been in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant — as it had been — of an ancient mosaic, rescued from some disaster that had befallen the community there. Something that was now only preserved in the Oseans’ assumptions that the planet had been blasted into rubble.

                As scraps of different peoples’ information came forth, Marnoi continued to tap the pads of his fingers gently on the head of his R5 unit. Finally, in a lull, he stepped forward, grinning. “Thanks to the Captain here, I’m able to access my research notes once more.” Both Marnoi and Cassian ignored Nari’s pointed look, but it made Jyn seethe. “As I suspected, artefacts thought to be from Ossus are among those that have been found on the black market over the last decades. Known smuggler Antron Bach was likely behind their retrieval; though I think it’ll be easier to find Ossus than him, these days.”

                “Such as what?” Cassian shrugged.

                Marnoi’s grin broadened at his interest; Nari’s eyes narrowed. “Holocubes, kyber crystals suitable for lightsabre production, that sort of thing. Portables.”

                Unconsciously, Jyn’s hand touched the hard crystal that sank just below the neckline of her shirt.

                “So it’s already been cleared out?” Nidram exclaimed furiously.

                The rest of the room united around their amusement at his tone. Nari interrupted Marnoi before he could elaborate: “It seems so, Nidram. Perhaps we’ll have no need of your particular skill set after all…”

                As the man blustered into his long moustaches, Jyn eyed the twins. Jorn, the more confident of the two fidgeted and cleared his throat.

                “How many of us can even fit on this thing?” he sneered the last word as he gestured at the ship’s hulls.

                Although he tilted his chin and the hiss of annoyance from Jyn and Baze, Bodhi’s hurt expression made Jorn look away. “Well,” Bodhi said slowly. “We had about twenty on board after Nam Chorios.”

                “And on Scarif,” Cassian added.

                “Yeah. And on Scarif,” Bodhi swallowed. “But this could be a longer trip,” he coughed awkwardly after the last words and looked across at Jyn with an anguished expression. She nodded in what she hoped was a sympathetic way. “So, if we do make it to the surface, we’ll be staying on the ship, I guess. There’s the six of us, we have bunks in the lower deck, plus the flight chairs up here and the pilot’s hammock. I’d guess we could take five, comfortably?”

                “Four,” Cassian told him. “Unless you’re sleeping in the cockpit, I don’t want anyone in there.”

                “Oh please,” Nari jumped at the opportunity to rebut Cassian again. “What do you think will happen? Besides, I’ve slept on jungle floors before, I’ll do it again on Ossus.”

                Jyn frowned at her before shooting Bodhi a pointed look. “Bodhi, didn’t the hammock get broken? I’m sure when we came to help you put it away after the celebrations on Yavin…”

                He stared at her wide-eyed for a moment, and then Jyn breathed again when he raised a finger and swept the air with it. “Yes! That’s right, Jyn. I’d completely forgotten. We can take four of you; no one will be sleeping on the floor of a jungle that no one’s set foot in for hundreds of years.”

                “No one except for Antron Bach,” Marnoi reminded him.

                Bodhi pulled a face. “Yeah, okay, but unless you have his notes on the local flora, that’s not much use, is it?”

                Marnoi just shrugged with the contented smugness of a researcher who’d been able to bring his favourite topic into conversation once more.

                Nari looked exasperatedly around the hold, re-examining the people she’d hoped to take on her own terms, as her own landing party.

                “You two should go, not me,” Karid’s voice unexpectedly filled the hesitant silence. He gestured at Jorn and Roht a moment later, as though the desire to move his arm and its physical response suffered from delayed communication. The twins simply looked back at him with large, surprised eyes. “You can operate my equipment, I’ve shown you both how. Nari must be allowed to attend, and Marnoi; they have worked hardest to bring us to this point. But I trust you two to convince everyone of the findings, to prove that this planet will be the key to our survival.”

                It was the most Jyn had ever heard him say. She saw her own astonishment reflected on the expressions of all the others, including Jorn and Roht. Only Halla and Jesma nodded contentedly, as placid as they always were.

                “No, uncle, we can’t…” Roht trailed off as Karid shook his head.

                “Ridiculous!” Nidram spluttered. “This mission needs leadership, not a committee, not self-sacrificing deeds! How will you fund the settlement of this planet? You need someone experienced in trading, and in —“

                “Thank you, Nidram, we can always contact you once we’ve established the viability of the settlement,” Nari said smoothly.

                “Well you won’t have the use of my servants, you’ll be sorry when you’re chopping down vines and there’s no one to bring you —“ Nidram’s absurd rambling trailed off when both Cassian and Baze moved towards him. Baze stopped after a pace, a smirk spreading on his face as he contented himself with watching Cassian press a blaster into the man’s quivering throat.

                “Enough.” Cassian told him. “These … violated citizens will be handed over to the Alliance at the earliest possible convenience,” he glanced uneasily at the two figures who had been standing to attention behind Nidram since his arrival. “You will be grateful for passage off this asteroid, and for the justice you’ll receive through the Council.”

                Nidram looked about to say something, so Jyn stepped up too, pointing her blaster idly at his Decraniated servants. “Don’t even think about ordering them to do anything else,” she snarled. Baze grinned at her and Cassian, and raised his own weapon again with a shrug.

                Chirrut brought a pair of stun cuffs, laying one gentle hand on Cassian’s blaster arm and surveying Nidram with his impassive, knowing stare. He put the cuffs on Nidram and marched him to the edge of the ship without a word, finally whipping the merchant’s wide, gold shimmersilk belt from his ample belly and stuffing it into Nidram’s mouth. Chirrut left him cuffed to the ship’s landing ramp and returned to where he had stood by Baze; neither of the Decraniated servants had moved.

                Jyn shuddered and shared a look of horror with Cassian, as they both reholstered their weapons.

                Nari looked at them with a weariness Jyn hadn’t previously seen much of around her eyes. “That was long overdue, I will grant,” she said quietly.

                Cassian ignored the praise and looked past his folded arms to his feet. “Someone else can take a look at their programming,” was all he said, with a small gesture towards the statuesque servants.

                “So that leaves four,” Halla’s voice was a bright ray imposing on their gloomy consideration of the Decraniated. “The twins, Nari and Marnoi. The Jedhans do not need an Ossus; not when they have a Chirrut Îmwe. Not when the galaxy may have a Jedi knight returned.”

                Chirrut smiled sadly at her, and she and Jesma bowed their heads a little. “But the likelihood of Skywalker becoming that will be increased by whatever knowledge we can gain there. We will bring back what we are able to,” he told her with his own bow.

                “But Uncle,” Roht tried again, turning to Karid.

                “I’ve made up my mind — you two will be fine,” Karid told him.

                “Happy?” Jyn flicked her chin at Nari.

                Nari managed a rueful smile. “That isn’t the word I’d use, no. You’ve all rather derailed what was meant to be a hopeful, peaceful resettlement. But the Force works in its own way, and if the Alderaanians need their Princess and the Alliance more than a new planet, then it’s not really my place to correct them.” She shot a resentful look at Cassian again. “Besides, without this derailment I’d never have seen the face of Lyra Erso again,” she looked brazenly at Jyn, knowing him much her words would needle her.

                Jyn bared her teeth in an approximation of a smile. “And I’d never have had to listen to stories I never wanted to hear, about people I’ll never get to know,” she hit back, not caring if it was a lie.

                Nari laughed; Jyn shook her head. What else had she expected?

                “I guess that’s settled, then?” Bodhi looked around them all. “Shall I hail the commander?”

                “You’d better,” Cassian sighed.

                Halla, Jesma and Karid left, but no one could persuade Nidram’s servants to move. Eventually, Cassian half-heartedly peered at the electronic boxes fitted to their skulls, before retreating with something between a shudder and a shrug. “Just call the commander. We’ll get the Alliance to take them away when they come for Nidram.”

                Their plan was swiftly agreed by the commander of the transport; she told them she’d send down a shuttle with supplies for _Rogue One_ , a security team to remove Nidram and his servants, and a crew to bring Nari’s transport into orbit. Afterwards, the last of those from the refugee ship left _Rogue One_ again, preparing to collect the items they’d need for departure.

                Jyn and Cassian and Baze moved awkwardly around the upper deck, clearing things off the flight chairs and hauling spare bedding from bulkhead cabins. The Decraniated still didn’t move, and as soon as the hold was presentable, Cassian stalked from the ship, throwing a galaxy of swearing at Nidram as he passed him.

                Jyn saw the former merchant flinch, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she followed Cassian idly, peering at their captive’s wide, frightened eyes as she did.

                She paused when she came to where Cassian sat glaring at the dull grey horizon and the exuberant, colourful sky. She swallowed as she looked down at the top of his head, wondering why she’d chosen to follow him outside when it could lead to nothing but the kind of conversation she dreaded most.

                “Would you rather be alone?” she asked hopefully.

                He shot her a look from the corner of his eye and shrugged. She bristled, caught between annoyance that he didn’t appreciate what a big gesture it was for her to even be there, and fear that as soon as she sat down he might start unburdening his soul on her. The Decraniated were creepy, of course they were, but did she really want to know if he had some more personal reason to dislike them so much?

                He glanced up again, and this time drew her down to sit next to him, his grip tugging on her hand. It seemed that, unlike her memory of Elysse, of other personal explosions and implosions, things that always ended badly, Cassian was happy to replace awkward discussions with the simplicity of sharing silence in physical contact. Jyn huddled close to him on the hard rock of the asteroid, picking at the knees of her fraying trousers as he went back to scrutinising the distant landscape.


	36. Chapter 36

“I won’t wait it out upstairs!” her voice sounded shrill to her own ears, but she felt the need to stay in the cockpit too keenly to back down now.

                “That’s ridiculous, if we’re hit by anything there’s nothing to strap you in in the cockpit!” the worry behind his anger wasn’t as well hidden as it had been on Terminus. It made Jyn’s skin hot, and that in turn made her furious.

                “Rhinzi’s going to be in the cockpit!”

                “Bodhi needs Rhinzi to be able to navigate…”

                She bit back on the words that would have followed rhythmically: _and you don’t need me there?_ Jyn saw her own terror reflected back on his face. Kriff, had she really almost said that out loud?

                “Guys, _guys_ , please. We’re going to be fine. Really. Rhinzi and I have picked up such a good understanding of what’s going on in that asteroid field. Chirrut — and the Force — are going to be guiding Baze on the cannon. Rhinzi and I will tell Cassian exactly what to do. Jyn, please don’t make me shoot you full of sedatives,” Bodhi looked at her with worried eyes.

                He was worried because he didn’t want to interrupt, as he hadn’t on Terminus. Because he wanted Cassian concentrating on flying, not thinking about crashing. He was worried because Jyn’s hands were clenched into fists and he thought she might break his jaw before listening to reason.

                She looked at Bodhi and tried to fold everything she’d just revealed back into its appropriate box. It wouldn’t quite fit like it used to though, and she could only think of the dark upper hold as some sort of prison akin to the deep tunnel she’d waited in on Lah’mu. Panic was rising, liquid and cold, and she fought it, hating to be seen like that by the whole crew, who’d be able to hear everything from the hold, but making it worse as she fought it.

                “Please,” Cassian noticed her breathing, stepping close and taking her elbows, sliding his hands up her biceps, warmth trying to counter-act the freezing terror. “Or fly instead of me. I’ll sit in the hold if you’d rather be in the co-pilot’s seat.”

                Bodhi’s twitch didn’t quite back Cassian’s confidant words up, and Jyn peered into misery, wishing she’d just found a way of making herself sit down in the flight seats. The idea of Nari and her stories lurked upstairs in the dark hold as well though, and Jyn shuddered physically again. She fought Cassian’s embrace, too, unable to relax into it like she had on Oseon VII. Her shoulders remained tight, her arms stayed folded around her. She didn’t move when a commotion began upstairs and Bodhi leaped — literally — at the opportunity to leave the cockpit and find out what was going on.

                Cassian didn’t try to unfold her. He just held onto her rigid form and rested his chin on her head, murmuring words that she couldn’t quite catch in a soft Outer Rim language.

                The calmness of his body was soothing her, now that she couldn’t see his fearful expression. But swearing began anew upstairs, and the raised voices of the twins in defence of something. Jyn forced herself away, feeling Cassian’s stubble scratch stubbornly at her scalp. “There’s more important stuff happening,” she said quietly, disentangling herself and shakily reaching for the ladder as he watched her glumly.

                Upstairs, Nari watched with folded arms and Bodhi gestured in a placatory manner towards Jorn and Roht. Karid stood at the top of the ramp with a small, sheepish stance, keeping his glittering eyes low, focussed on Marnoi’s green and white droid.

                “ _Obviously_ I’d rather have your uncle than no one,” Bodhi was saying, sounding even more out of his depth than he had in the cockpit. “But Marnoi was fine yesterday, and he evidently didn’t catch whatever it is from any of us!”

                Jyn inhaled deeply, trying to think past the cold and the shivering in her limbs. “What’s going on?” she aimed to inject stability and authority into her quavering tone.

                Bodhi sighed and sent his eyes skywards. “Something’s wrong with Marnoi apparently. He’s not well; can barely leave his bunk.”

                Jyn looked at Nari. “Have you still got med kits on the transport?”

                “We have, someone’s taking care of him now,” she, too, tried to project calm, but her voice was a little more taut than normal.

                “What’s wrong with him?” she looked around the others. Her nerves were still frayed and Bodhi’s own heightened anxiety — which was partly her fault, she reminded herself — wasn’t helping.

                “He’s just sick,” said Jorn with an exasperated huff. “Fever, delirium, that kind of thing…”

                Jyn frowned at him; some of the worlds she’d been to with Saw had been little better than swamps, and a few of the Partisans had come down with local diseases, but in her experience illness didn’t come out of nowhere like that.

                “It could be contamination from one of his artefacts,” Karid croaked, his voice making Jyn jump.

                “What’s he doing here?” she asked Nari.

                “He’s here because Marnoi told him to come, to bring R5-C3 so we’d still have use of Marnoi’s records,” Jorn said defensively.

                “What contamination?” Cassian had silently joined them in the main hold.

                Karid eyed him warily, his lips pursed as he considered his response. “I believe he had artefacts stored in the R5 unit, and had been examining one of them. It may have contained the seed of some infection from the planet?”

                Cassian’s shoulders sagged in disbelief. “I didn’t find anything like that when I was repairing the droid. Besides, I don’t believe he’d be that careless.”

                He stared at Karid until the other man’s eyelids dropped and he shrugged. Jyn saw Jorn growing increasingly angry with the situation, and Roht fidgeted nervously with the atmospheric testing equipment he held.

                “So you brought his R5 unit. Thank you, Karid.” Jyn beckoned the droid aboard. “You’ll see to it that the Alliance take good care of Marnoi?”

                Karid glanced from side to side and wound his white-knuckled, arthritic fingers together. He nodded minutely and moved half a pace before Jorn reached him, holding his arm and looking accusatorily at Jyn.

                “You said we can take four, why can’t our uncle come now?” Jorn asked.

                Jyn’s lips firmed and she looked to Cassian, Bodhi and Nari for back-up. Each of them shared her doubt, but none of them could say quite what it was about Karid that felt off to them. Chirrut and Baze entered the awkward silence from the lower deck, and, having absorbed the sense of things, Chirrut squeezed her arm reassuringly. He still wore a small frown, but he nodded. “I think that’s right, Jorn. We now have the space to take Karid, so he’s welcome aboard.”

                The tension in the hold dissipated quickly; everyone was relieved to just get on with preparations for take-off. As she turned with a sigh, Jyn let herself be caught by Cassian again. “I’ll be fine, someone has to keep an eye on Karid, right?” she muttered, not meeting his gaze.

                He said nothing, but raised his hands to rake fingers through her hair, catching the strands that never stayed back and sweeping them around her ears. She closed her eyes at the sensation, not daring to look to see what softness might be in his face. His kiss wasn’t soft though, she felt his lips hard and hungry on hers, forcing her arms to unfold, her hands to find purchase on him, fingers flexing in the fabric of his clothes.

                “We’ll come through this,” was all he said, so close to her mouth she could feel the words. She ground her teeth together, her eyes still closed, trying to understand the way he made her doubts seem manageable, even as she knew he harboured the same doubts as she did. Finally, she stepped back, her hair tangling around her face as his hands fell away.

                “Fly well,” she gave him a small, hard smirk, and retreated to the empty flight chair near Nari, steeling herself to listen to whatever she had to listen to. At least it would be a distraction from whatever was going on outside the shuttle.

…

“You’ve got all that, right?” Bodhi tried to make the question sound gentle, but Cassian smiled at the impatient core that came through.

                “I think so.” He flicked the usual pre-flight switches and scanned the improvised display that Bodhi had rigged out from a datapad. “Gravitational fields will be visually displayed there, that’s our best way of slipping between the asteroids; different colours in the nebula might indicate different kinds of interference … Rhinzi, you’re going to try and keep us updated there?”

                Rhinzi nodded, clasping his own datapad in an uncomfortable embrace. Bodhi had managed to rig up flight straps between the ceiling of the cockpit and its floor, winding them around Rhinzi as they travelled between the surfaces. The old man stood suspended at the centre of their web, tugging occasionally at one of the lines experimentally.

                “As far as I can ascertain, the further towards the violet end of the spectrum, the more destructive they’re likely to be. Aim for clouds that appear red and orange if you can. And although some of our sensors might come and go, you should assume they’re useless anyway. If they’re not fried, we’ll still need to recalibrate them after this flight.”

                “After our return flight, you mean?” Cassian couldn’t help asking, though he kept his attention on the console and Bodhi followed the countdown to when the thrusters would be primed.

                “Yes, yes, after that,” Rhinzi agreed readily.

                As _Rogue One_ lifted off from the surface of the asteroid a column of grey dust billowed around them, partially obscuring the activity around the transport ship. A small Alliance shuttle nestled close to it and figures moved between the two, shifting supplies to where they were most needed and recording what they could about those on board. Relief settled over Cassian that they’d managed to find this group and get them into the safekeeping of the Alliance; he drew a deep breath and forced the tension from his shoulders as their view filled with the clouds of the nebula that oozed into the outskirts of Oseon’s star-system.

                Bodhi clicked the comms and checked in with Baze and Chirrut, who were wedged into the lower gun turret together. He switched on the datapad on the console and swiped at a few points until the screen displayed a series of concentric circles, the centre each one corresponding to the asteroids in front of them. The nebula stretched fingers out towards them: grasping tendrils of yellows, greens and oranges.

                They aimed towards one of the warmer, orange blotches in the cloud, but Cassian still saw LEDs on the console flicker in ways they shouldn’t have. Needles on displays vacillated in confusion and counters forgot the order in which numbers commonly followed on from one another. He tried to keep his eyes on the controls that they had confidence would hold out, and on the view itself; to his right, Bodhi’s expression was stern but calm as he consulted the data he could access. He suggested a series of co-ordinates to Rhinzi, who consulted his datapad for a moment and then nodded decisively. Cassian adjusted the ship’s thrusters as instructed and braced himself for the feeling of entering the nebula.

                There was no altered sensation when it happened, of course, just an eerie yellow light that seemed to come from nowhere, filling the cockpit and casting a sickly pallor on Bodhi and Rhinzi’s faces. As they passed through the nebula, the dust surrounding them became invisible; it was only at a distance that the illusion of colour prevailed, making their progress through the swirling ribbons of reds and oranges slow and cautious.

                Bodhi had disconnected most of the alarms on the console, but one of the essential ones now began its insistent call for attention.

                “Okay, shields up,” Bodhi said in clipped tones. He opened the comms again: “Baze, Chirrut, we’re approaching the asteroid field proper now. Remember, only aim for those you’re sure will break up when struck; try and deflect rather than destroy. I don’t want one big problem turned into hundreds of smaller, less predictable problems.”

                “Got it, Bodhi,” Baze’s voice crackled back. “May the Force be with us!” he added.

                Cassian reached up to arm the ship’s front-facing cannons and tugged on his flight restraints to check they were secure. He glanced back once at Rhinzi, who was transfixed by the vision before them, but didn’t seem nervous, and then they were amid the asteroids. He and Bodhi were rolling the ship one way and then another, following lazy corkscrews between obstacles, all the while seeking out the veins of space dust that had a warmer hue.

                Their voices overlapped, tense but not yet raised: Rhinzi making suggestions about the trajectory of the less-damaging radiation, Baze reporting in on rocks that might make a small impact on their aft shields, Bodhi instructing them all, and Cassian monitoring shields and weapons.

                The longer he concentrated on the clouds of the nebula, the more he imagined faces and movement in it; surely space slugs and mynocks couldn’t survive the levels of radiation found out there? And yet he couldn’t convince his mind that it was only a trick of the ever-shifting light. He didn’t dare lift a hand from the controls to rub his traitorous eyes, and found his jaw aching as he clenched it in concentration. He could smell Bodhi’s nervousness every time the pilot reached above him to adjust some control on the overhead console.

                The screen on the datapad adjusted repeatedly as the ship nosed its way between the space rocks. It looked like pebbles raining down into still water, the gravity of each object fading out as they passed it, and new obstacles emerged, sending their own ripples across the screen. Bodhi and Cassian kept the ship on a course as far from the origin points of each set of ripples as possible, even if it sometimes meant travelling through the colder light of other sources of radiation.

                When the ship passed through a tendril of blueish dust the shields sparked furiously, speckling with static and causing the vessel to shudder angrily as small, stray objects simultaneously hit the shields. Half the lights on the console went out and Cassian’s heart leapt to his throat when the thrusters took a couple of seconds longer to respond than normal; then the ship’s nose turned reluctantly, edging them around the field of a large, tumbling asteroid as they re-entered the yellow-tinged edges of a different part of the nebula.

                “Can we get any of that back?” he asked Bodhi and Rhinzi as he surveyed the dead LEDs with one eye, keeping the other focussed on their path.

                “Unlikely,” Bodhi also regarded it with a strange tilt to his head, as he tried to take it in at the same time as the vista outside. He reached out and speculatively flicked a switch; it flared with a dull spark as he did so, and Cassian felt a slight adjustment to the angle of the ship’s wings. “I _think_ they still work; or most of them, anyway. They’re just not going to light up now.”

                “Great,” Cassian muttered, an idle thought at the back of his mind seeking to reassure him with alternative scenarios; maybe Jyn could get down here and fly after all, whilst he got under the console and rewired whatever could be rewired. But the luxury of that thought was little more than the promise that if he concentrated for now, he could focus on it is more detail later — when it would no longer be necessary to imagine such a scenario anyway.

                “I think I have good news,” Rhinzi finally said in a querulous tone. The lasers from the ship’s belly cannon lanced through space in front of them, joining with Cassian’s shot from the front cannons, shearing off a section of an enormous asteroid that would have driven them into a purple patch of the nebula if they’d tried to steer around it.

                “I’d love to hear it!” Bodhi said around his rattling teeth as they juddered through the fragments of hot debris scattered by their shot.

                Rhinzi leaned forwards as far his restrains would allow and pointed a gnarled finger at the viewport. “I believe that is Ossus’ star,” he summoned a degree of wonder that Cassian had to marvel at, even as he frowned at the too-busy, too-bright expanse of space still ahead of them. One point glowed brighter than its surroundings, making parts of the nebula shine with a whitish luminescence, but occasionally dimming as an asteroid tumbled between them and the star.

                He exchanged the briefest of glances with Bodhi, who nodded and commed the news to Baze and Chirrut. Increasingly aware of his tense shoulders and neck, Cassian made himself sit back deeply into the flight chair, blinking to clear his vision whenever a small rock thrummed against their shields, or one of the cannons fired bursts of bright green into the shadow cast by one of the space rocks.

                Slowly, despite their meandering, twisting path over and under and around the obstacles, the distance between them and Ossus’ star shrank to little more than it would have been had there been a direct point from which to exit hyperspace in the system. As they neared it, the nebula grew harder to see, but Cassian was sure that very little of it was comprised of the warmer colours they’d been trying to follow; in fact, he suspected that Ossus’ star emanated a good portion of the radiation that was causing their ship the most trouble. The asteroids at this edge of the field had also crumbled into smaller pieces: shards big enough to swipe a wing from the shuttle, but small enough to be obliterated with the right measure of laser fire.

                Bodhi warned Baze and Chirrut that they’d have their work cut out for them as they entered the final approach to the system, and Cassian told the rest of the ship’s crew to make sure their restraints were tight. _Rogue One_ nuzzled its way into the channels of clouds that had appeared green and blue from a greater distance; ahead of them, Ossus’ star was veiled by a purplish tinge.

                The shields began to give off sparks, light building at the foremost point of the shuttle’s nose. At first, that was all; the ship made no more or less noise than usual. The sparks danced pink and orange across the surface of the shield, and the ship’s cannons took care of any asteroid that came too close.

                But then a high-pitched whine began to build in the engines; Cassian could almost imagine that he heard the dust of the nebula gusting past them outside, howling across the ship’s protective layers, sparks scouring away at the shields. “Rhinzi,” Bodhi asked through gritted teeth. “What do we think that is?”

                “I don’t have an explanation yet!” Rhinzi replied.

                “What the hell is this?” Baze’s voice came over the comms.

                “Uh, just the last phase, we’re nearly there,” Bodhi tried to make his voice authoritative and reassuring, but Cassian saw how wide his eyes had gone.

                “It’s getting into Chirrut’s head!” Baze complained.

                “What the hell do you mean?”

                “I mean he can sense it! Like a person, or … or something,” Baze’s alarm was clear through the unsteady channel and the increasing noise of the ship around them.

                “Well you’ll just have to hit the asteroids without his help for now then,” Bodhi snapped, wrenching the controls as they waltzed briefly with an asteroid, spinning around its gravity with an angry wail from the engines.

                Cassian shot a nervous look at him; the pilot was holding himself together, but clearly had nothing to spare for Baze and Chirrut’s dilemma. Cassian compressed his own worries and focussed on following Bodhi’s movements across the console, trying to anticipate the course he’d choose before he did so.

                The dizzying manoeuvres they followed were making him sluggish; he could barely keep his focus on the direction they were meant to be moving in as opposed to the unpredictable spins of the asteroids. As they dipped below a cluster of them, one became tangled in their own gravity and skipped across the upper shield like a stone on water.

                With a pop and a fizz from the console, and a smell of electrical burning, the shields went down. Cassian and Bodhi turned the ship into another corkscrew roll, but not fast enough to save the wing-mounted cannon on the port side from another asteroid.

                “There’s a gap, there, I’m just taking us through!” Bodhi shouted, pointing a shaking finger momentarily at the screen of the datapad.

                “But the radiation,” Cassian protested.

                “The ship’s insulated,” Rhinzi squeezed his shoulder a little too tightly.

                “Not what I meant!” Cassian growled as the ship plunged into the last waves of radiation between them and Ossus’ sun. The back of _Rogue One_ bucked as its engines spat and coughed, Cassian hammering the port thrusters as Bodhi encouraged the ship into a final, sweeping turn. Like something spat from the jaws of a giant beast, _Rogue One_ emerged into the Ossus system with a skipping, sputtering flight.

                Any lights left on the console were blinking in angry reds and oranges, and the engines continued their exhausted, asthmatic whine. Cassian fumbled at his restraints with shaking hands.

                Bodhi, whose hands clung to the controls in front of him, looked across. “We need to get into orbit first,” he swallowed.

                Cassian leaned his head back against the chair and stopped struggling with the clips. “It’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t think my legs would support me anyway.”

                Bodhi responded to his lop-sided grin with a dry bark of laughter. That noise seemed to tip him into a follow-up; hysterical cackling that Cassian joined him in as they slumped over the sickly-looking control console.

                Rhinzi placed a hand on each of their shoulders, leaning forward again, eyes only for the vision before them. “Gentlemen: we are the first to see this planet in hundreds of years.”

                They paused, and surveyed it for a moment, then: “except Antron Bach,” Bodhi spluttered back into laughter. Cassian joined him, too relieved to be clear of the asteroid field to care that their amusement stemmed from nothing more than nervous shock. They’d made it; half of the journey was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha what is physics? I don't understand space... :D


	37. Chapter 37

“You’re a nervous flyer?”

                It took Jyn a few minutes to notice that Roht was addressing her, not anyone else.

                “What? No. I’m just nervous about being crushed to death by space debris and there being nothing I can do about it,” she shifted in her chair, not looking at him. “Pretty reasonable thing to be nervous about, I’d say.”

                “Didn’t you fight the Death Star?” Jorn scoffed.

                Her jaw twitched as she prepared to turn furiously towards him, but she caught the reaction just in time and shook her head, examining her grubby, short fingernails.

                “You don’t _fight_ the Death Star,” she curled her lip. “You find a Jedi to fight the Death Star. I just avoided getting hit by it a few times.”

                The red dust of Jedha drowning Saw; sand and salt on her teeth as she struggled to hold onto Cassian’s weight under blue skies full of fire and smoke on Scarif; the sickly glow of the screens in the commander centre on Yavin IV and the screams of dying pilots … Jyn could remember them all as though she were still standing under the shadow of that metal moon. Did this kind of stress have a delayed reaction? She wasn’t sure; if she tried to think about it she realised her life had been one type of stressor after another, followed by another, and she couldn’t bear to let self-pity crack into the brittle frame she’d built around herself in order to keep going.

                “Still. I’m sorry we couldn’t stop it soon enough for Alderaan,” she said begrudgingly. Their staring was infuriating, supported in stereo by Nari on her other side, but it took her mind off the sound of every tick and thunk in the ship’s hull.

                “I’m just glad you stopped it at all,” Roht said quietly. “But you know they’ll just build another one. That’s why hiding out away from all this is better than fighting. Let the rest of the galaxy destroy itself; at least we’ll live to pick up the pieces.”

                Jyn’s blunt right thumbnail pressed into her left palm as she considered what he said. She’d press it as hard as she could, hard enough to make it bleed, or form a blood-blister at least, and by then she’d have worked out how to reply.

                “Don’t be silly, Roht,” Nari interrupted her distant thoughts smoothly. “Galen Erso’s dead, and they could never have built it without him.”

                Jyn remembered her father’s holograph dimly; what had he said? He’d learnt to lie. To cheat the Empire. He’d realised they didn’t need him all that much, so he’d designed ways to make himself indispensable. Did anyone in the Empire survive who realised the tricks he’d played on them?

                Still, she managed to direct a grateful smile at Nari.

                “I wonder what Ossus will be like …” Nari breathed, turning her face to the ceiling as though she could imagine herself outdoors, exploring the jungle of a strange world.

                “Uninhabitable, I expect,” Jyn needled her.

                Nari laughed. “So, we might have to do a bit of bioengineering! Do you remember anything Lyra taught you?”

                The rawness that Jyn had felt whenever Nari mentioned her parents was changing at long last. The sharp pain of contact was mutating into a friendly, familiar ache, at least when it touched what she could identify as her own memories. Some of those were still too warm, too happy for her to examine too thoroughly. But many had proved neutral, _normal_ enough, that she could think of them with a sort of wonder; she rediscovered realms of normalcy she’d forgotten had once been her own territory.

                “Nothing that would help here,” she mused. “The soil on Lah’mu … that colour, it meant it was rich, right? Fertile, good for planting. It didn’t need all that much of my mother’s help.”

                “Maybe not,” Nari shrugged. “But the sea salt won’t have helped. You said you were down on the coast?”

                Jyn thought of the waves on the black shore; they’d race in, taller than she was, pummelling the ground so that their spray chased her further up the beach. “Yeah. We had evaporators though, for moisture farming.”

                “To irrigate the salt off the soil,” Nari nodded with satisfaction. “I’m sure there were ditches, to drain run-off back into the sea.”

                Jyn frowned, her hands returning unconsciously to her necklace, turning the pendant over and over in her grasp. She remembered the deep channels; she’d jump across them, pretending to be the prize-winner in a Kaadu race, her heart fluttering when the foot she launched from slithered into the crumbling soil at the edge of the ditches. She’d run and run until she’d exhausted herself, playing out all the stories she could with just herself for company. Inevitably, she’d only stop running when a jump threatened to go properly wrong; her toes skimming the water in the bottom of the ditch, or her clothes growing damp from the earth when she had to throw herself onto her chest in order to make sure she reached the other side. She’d return home filthy and matted, scuffed with black earth from the tips of her pigtails to the tips of her toes. Lyra would grumble, though her eyes would sparkle with amusement, and she’d scrub Jyn senseless in a too-hot bath, and Jyn would have to play indoors the next day.

                “Yeah, I think there were ditches,” she murmured.

                Nari tried not to be smug about having coaxed Jyn into the memory, but she could tell the other woman was struggling to contain her satisfaction.

                “Is that a kyber crystal, may I ask?” Karid’s rusty voice intruded on the thrumming of the engines. Occasionally, the cannons rumbled, but they weren’t being thrown around much yet in the hold.

                Jyn dropped the necklace back into her collar and turned to him defensively. “What if it is?” she snapped.

                He worked his puckered mouth and stared vaguely at a point by her shoulder with his sharp blue eyes. Finally he gave a shrug. “I heard the Jedi used them. Didn’t think there’d be any left.”

                Jyn looked at his ill-shaven, wrinkled skin and tremulous hands; something like pity stirred in her when she saw Roht watching her anxiously.

                With a sigh, she withdrew the necklace again, but she didn’t take it off. “It was my mother’s. I don’t know where she got it, or what the aurebesh on it says. She gave me it,” Jyn swallowed, studying the crystal’s milky depths as the sounds of the ship’s cannons reverberated more frequently around them. “She gave me it just before she died.”

                “She got it from your father, through his work,” Nari said softly. “I don’t know what’s written on it either. Probably only they knew.”

                Jyn turned it to look at the carved side. The sharp edges of the writing had never worn away under her constant worrying; she was glad Nari didn’t know what it said either. Knowing that there would always be something about her parents that no one would, or could, try to explain to her was reassuring.

                Her grip on the crystal tightened and she squeezed her eyes shut as the ship’s hull roared and whistled under some external pressure. Jyn swore under her breath; on Jedha and on Eadu she’d not wanted to die, not exactly, she’d just been crushed by the weight of running, by the unexpected return of an identity she never thought she’d have to return to. Looking back on those moments — the sharp rocks making her knees ache on Jedha, the water soaking up her trousers on Eadu — she found herself dizzyingly, terrifyingly grateful for the same pair of hands that had hauled her away from each void.  And now she could only hope he was helping to keep them all running again, for that bit longer, from the last unknown to the next …

                “Are you okay?” Roht was looking at her again. She ship’s juddering had calmed once more, but the lights had dimmed, rerouted through some sort of backup generator.

                Jyn swore again and directed her gaze upwards. If she could just _see_ what was happening outside the hull it would be better; she’d be able to prepare if she knew what was coming.

                “I’m fine,” she forced out.

                “You know, we’ve got some pretty effective sedatives. It might help?” Roht unclipped a box on his lap that was full of vials of clear liquid.

                Jyn’s surprise cut through her fear. “Why?” she asked, skewering him and his now nervous expression with her frown. Jorn reached over and slammed his brother’s box shut.

                Roht floundered for a moment, then Jorn answered her. “It’s the solution we pump the atmospheric samples though. It’s also a highly effective sedative.”

                “No, thanks …” she stared at the box a little longer, before she was unable to resist a quick glance at Karid. Had he been partaking of his own wares somewhat too much? Roht’s uneasiness made her suspect something like that was the case.

                The comms crackled to life, but instead of the announcement that they’d arrived, it was Cassian telling them to make sure they were properly secured. Jyn’s stomach turned. She ached for a simple blaster fight; for an alleyway and her truncheon and the simplicity of physical combat.

                The sound of the ship built to a deafening roar, with every surface threatening to spin off in a different direction. Dimly Jyn thought she could hear shouting from the lower deck and from the cockpit. She thought of Baze’s steady, tense gaze, locked with hers as they’d sped from Scarif, the atmospheric turmoil bucking and shoving the ship as they flew.

                She didn’t know how long it lasted, but it seemed to take an age. When they finally emerged from the noise and the excess of motion, she found herself curled over her knees, Nari’s left hand gripped firmly in her right. Nari was pale and grim-faced, and even Jorn looked less certain than she’d seen him.

                Bodhi and Cassian’s laughter sounded as unsteady as her limbs felt, but at the sound of it, Jyn grabbed her restraints, clawing the buckles apart and launching herself at the ship’s ladder, half-sliding down it to the cockpit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please accept my writing playlist in apology for how long this update took: https://open.spotify.com/user/allremovables/playlist/3cS14CVC3BPenMXfyOQ7fx
> 
> Also here is an accurate representation of me, now:  
> 
> 
> Love y'all, will try not to leave it a month before the next update. I'd like to finish before Rebel Rising comes out so I don't get furious at all the discrepancies between canon and my imagination...


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhh my goddd it's finished and i'm not even happy, just ???? why is it so long when nothing happens? what's the point? I'LL NEVER WRITE PLOT AGAIN I'M SO SORRY FOLKS. But it's finished, so in that sense, yay? Note to self: spend less time being a smartass and trying to write Nature and Emotions and maybe just write some more blaster fights, sshysmm, ffs.

At last, the planet lay before them: a hazy gem on the bed of sparkling dust from the nebula that expanded beyond it. Navigational routes on all sides of it were beset with anomalies stranger than those in the asteroid field, but Ossus twinkled peacefully in a calm zone of space, ambling its way around a butter-yellow star along with a handful of other satellites.

                Those that were closer to the star didn’t shine like Ossus did; as _Rogue One_ carved a line through the thinning clouds of space dust, it became clear that their atmospheres had been stripped, and their barren surfaces were dull and cratered.

                Jyn stumbled off the ladder and tripped awkwardly around Rhinzi in his web of restraints. Dragging her eyes from the system in front of them, she turned to him with a bemused smile and helped him to unclip himself. As she did so Nari, Karid and the twins descended the ladder. Jyn shuffled around to stand behind the co-pilot’s seat, leaning over Cassian to look out at the view again. She smoothed a palm over each of his shoulders, and one of his hands came off the console to meet her touch, his fingers sliding over her knuckles as he, too, gazed out of the viewport.

                After a moment, he glanced up with a fleeting smile. Jyn could feel the tension that hadn’t yet dissipated from his neck and shoulders; there was sweat around the edges of his hairline, and she couldn’t see much that looked healthy on the ship’s console in front of him. Nevertheless, here they were.

                The closer they got to Ossus, the more it became clear that whatever had ravaged the other planets in the system hadn’t quite spared their destination. Nari suppressed a murmur of disappointment — one that she’d never admit to if questioned about it later. Through the ragged, bruise-coloured clouds swirling in Ossus’ atmosphere they caught glimpses of the surface: patches of green jungle remained, but the waters were shades of sickly pink, and the continents of one half of the planet seemed to have been scorched and blasted in a manner similar to the smaller satellites in the system.

                Bodhi and Cassian settled the ship into a low orbit and Bodhi flipped switches determinedly. Nothing much seemed to happen. “So …” he turned slowly to find Karid, trying to keep eye contact with him as everyone shuffled further around to let Baze and Chirrut into the cramped space. “How do your atmospheric tests work?”

                Karid looked vaguely around the cockpit before returning his gaze to Bodhi. Slowly, he mimed filling a canister with his hands. “I … they … you have to lower them into the atmosphere. Capture samples. Then we can test them.”

                “You don’t need the ship’s analytics at all?” Bodhi gestured limply at the consoles.

                “No, they developed a portable version,” Jorn rolled his eyes. “It’ll work with samples from the surface, too.”

                Bodhi shrugged happily and pushed up from the pilot’s chair to follow Karid, Nari and the twins back up to the hold to see the equipment.

                Cassian turned to Baze and Chirrut, both of whom looked pale and worn; Chirrut’s frown was deeper than Jyn had seen it in some time.

                “What happened back there? Are you okay?” Cassian directed the both questions to Chirrut.

                Chirrut let Baze take some of his bodyweight as he leant into the tall man’s side. “I’ve never felt anything like it. It was like … like the emotions I get from other beings, but shouted, vast, echoing through space itself. Not with a personality, nothing to contain it, just … the same way the nebula itself flows.”

                “Force radiation?” Cassian looked at Rhinzi doubtfully.

                “That’s just what it was,” Baze said protectively.

                Rhinzi shrugged his assent. “It’s possible, I suppose.”

                “Are you okay now?” Jyn asked again, worried by Chirrut’s tense features.

                “It’s faded, it’s not so loud outside the field. But there’s still some … interference. It could be the system’s star; it’s not painful, it’s just an unceasing background chatter. The Jedi who used to live here must have been able to control their access to it; maybe it was part of their training.”

                “Could they have used it to navigate through the field?” Rhinzi asked.

                Chirrut’s frown deepened, as though he didn’t want to think about what that would entail. “Maybe they did. But our shields reacted badly with those areas of the nebula. I don’t think it would help us.”

                Baze raised the arm that was around Chirrut’s shoulders to massage his long fingers through the Guardian’s short, dark hair, rubbing the skin at the base of his skull and the nape of his neck. Chirrut’s eyes closed a little in appreciation of the gesture. “We’ll go and meditate on it for a bit, huh?” Baze said softly. “By the time we’re done, the others will know whether or not we’re going to the surface.”

                “Mind if I take a nap in the bunks at the same time?” Cassian asked. “Bodhi might need me for a brief flight through the atmosphere, but after that I need some rest. I expect we all do.”

                “It’s okay, Captain, the worries of those around me are quite effectively drowned out by the system’s interference,” Chirrut managed about a quarter of the gusto his usual smiles contained.

                “I’ll do the atmospheric flight. Go and rest,” Jyn’s touch on his arm was as gentle as her voice. He looked down at her, tiredness fogging the question in his eyes. “Go,” she repeated.

                “Accept her offer, Captain,” Chirrut’s voice now had a larger dose of his customary wry humour. He chuckled at Baze affectionately and led the two of them up the stairs and out of the cockpit.

                Cassian waited for Rhinzi to follow them, then he looked back at her. Before he could ask her anything, she adopted a bluff smirk. “How bad’s the damage then? We’d better not be stuck here.”

                He shook his head a little. “I don’t think so. But any repairs will be easier if we can land. We’ve lost a cannon. Watch the handling in the atmosphere; that damaged wing might make the ship slew to starboard.”

                She lowered her chin in acknowledgement, but kept her gaze on him. His dark eyes were soft with tiredness, his thin lips quirked into a bemused little smile. “Thanks,” he added, finally turning from her, leaving her feeling like some part of her had been captured in that deep gaze, spirited away by him.

                Awkward with sudden, pent-up energy, Jyn flopped into the co-pilot’s chair and watched the planet rotate below them.

                When Bodhi clattered down the steps into the cockpit she looked up expectantly.

                To her gratitude, he didn’t miss a beat when he saw her there.

                “Hey — we’ve got some damage on the port side; the wing at the fore …” Bodhi trailed off as she nodded, pulling her flight restraints across.

                “I know, there’s a cannon missing. Atmosphere looks pretty forgiving though.”

                “Yeah, entry will be a bit hairy, but once we’re in, we’ll find somewhere to land whist Karid does his analysis on the samples.”

                Jyn checked over the console and pulled a face at the array of dead LEDs and flashing warning lights. “Most of this stuff that seems dead still works, right?”

                “Most of it,” Bodhi grinned toothily, pushing the ship’s nose into an angle as Jyn activated the thrusters with a tut. The air around the ship’s nose glowed a little as they nudged their way into Ossus’ atmosphere. _Rogue One_ shuddered in protest, but nothing further came off the damaged wing.

                Bodhi commed back and forth with Karid and the twins, waiting until they were satisfied they had their sample. Then, he and Jyn looped the ship low over blueish mountain ranges, roving across the areas of the planet that hadn’t been burnt dry by some ancient force. The jungle was thick, but they finally spied an expanse of flat, tree-less vegetation by a mauve-coloured lake.

                The jungle looked healthy, though the water was less appealing. As they descended, Jyn saw that its colour came from thick swathes of algae on its surface, their lurid pinks and reds choking the lake’s clear blue into a greyish lilac. An unseen wind continued to tumble and tousle the heads of the trees nearby even after their thrusters had cut out, and a few creatures played in its currents, their games coming and going in and out of the sullen clouds.

                “It doesn’t look toxic …” she shrugged at Bodhi.

                “Maybe we _can_ just leave Nari here?” he grinned.

                Jyn smirked back gratefully; “with Karid and the twins? I’m not sure who we’d be inflicting on who.” She looked out of the viewport again. The motion of the trees and the swooping animals above them was oddly calming. “In fact, I’m not sure the planet deserves it,” she grinned at him.

                After a moment, she and Bodhi went to see what Karid and the twins were learning from their samples. Nari and Rhinzi peered closely at their work in the back of the hold; the twins had re-purposed a supply crate as their lab table and fitted together a series of clear plast tubes, which allowed the contained meeting of those vials of clear liquid Roht had showed her, and the samples they’d collected from the atmosphere.

                Nari wore one of the ship’s red atmospheric suits; her short grey hair was jagged and dishevelled, and she watched the process with a vital excitement in her eyes. She’d clipped herself to the edge of the ship’s hold, beyond the atmospheric seal, and leaned out of the ship with the container Karid had given her. Now her adrenaline was up. Jyn suspected that Nari would be disappointed to be able to simply walk off the shuttle; she’d rather have dived from the ship, riding the currents of the wind down to the surface.

                Whilst the others stared at the bubbling solution in Karid’s equipment, Jyn soon grew bored with waiting for it to reach the necessary temperature. She picked up one of the boxes of vials on the floor and examined each little bottle. Their lids were different colours, and labelled with different characters of aurebesh. Roht eyed her warily as she lifted the vials out and peered at them, giving the viscous liquid a shake.

                She flinched her touch away from one vial, feeling a slick line of its contents that had escaped its seal.

                Roht laughed quietly, but a little nervously. “It’s okay, you’ve have to get it subcutaneously for it to work.”

                Cautiously, Jyn raised her fingers to her nose as she handed the box back to him. Something about that metallic tang was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place where she’d encountered it before.

                “That’s a different one. It’s for preserving any faunal samples we get,” Roht explained, turning the vials to align the aurebesh in the same direction, and closing the lid with a snap.

                “Is that all it’s used for?”

                Roht grinned at her tone. “Yes, from what I know! They’re not all repurposed medical supplies, right Uncle?”

                Karid raised his eyes slowly from the solution in front of him. He studied Roht and Jyn carefully, then shook his head minutely and returned his gaze to his experiment.

                Jyn sighed, watching him a little longer. He wasn’t at all like how she remembered her father; when Galen was sunk in his work he was distracted, yes, but he coursed with the fire of enthusiasm, and frequently frustration. Nothing seemed to puncture Karid’s leisurely disconnect from the world.

                “Well boys, I suppose you’re getting better training than the academy would have given you, right here in the field,” Nari smiled at Jorn and Roht.

                Jyn suppressed a smile at their horrified expressions; it was also good to know that Nari was as tactless as a bantha in an antique shop with everyone.

                After a few more minutes, Karid consulted his chronometer and nodded with satisfaction. “No sign of toxic elements. Though of course, it cannot detect radiation levels.”

                Bodhi stood and reached into another supply crate to retrieve a handheld device. “No, that’s what this is for. Jyn, do you want to get the other atmosuit and help Nari do some exploring?”

                Jyn braced herself for some comment from Nari about how it would be just like old times with Lyra, but Nari just grinned at her. With a shrug, Jyn retrieved the suit and pulled its heavy plast on over her outfit. She and Nari snapped down the masks on the suits and she cradled the device Bodhi handed her in the unwieldy gauntlets she wore. Roht clipped some sample jars to the belt of the suit with an expression somewhere between apology and awe. Jyn fought down a smile again; it was an expression she’d not seen for a while, and she let herself be flattered by it.

                Then she and Nari stepped to the edge of the hold and an inner partition lowered between them and the rest of the ship’s interior. Behind it, Bodhi activated the ramp and Jyn turned to blink at the bright light of Ossus’ day, stepping down the ramp after Nari.

                “What exactly do we need?” she asked over their internal comms, fiddling with the dials on the radiation monitor as best as she could through the thick material of the suit.

                “As many samples as you can get,” Nari shrugged. “Water from the lake; soil; plants; any insects you see; bark from the edge of the forest…”

                Jyn frowned at the screen on her monitor and waved it through the air around her; it didn’t show a hint of a response. Nari was already walking in the direction of the treeline, so Jyn turned to the lakeside, kicking aside the plants that tried to tangle around the atmosuit’s heavy boots.

                The radiation monitor had still not moved by the time she trudged back to the ship; at her belt was a container of lake water with the pink algae and some small, glittering fish in it, some soil collected from the lakeside, and a container with a crushed jumble of plant life that her gauntlets had ruined as she’d tried to fit it in the jar. She saw Nari edging along the treeline still, her red suit coming and going as she wove in and out of the forest’s edge.

                “Nari, are you done?”

                The comm clicked and hissed with the other woman’s breath. “This forest is ancient, Jyn!”

                Jyn rolled her eyes. “Okay. But do you have the samples?”

                She saw Nari move deeper into the treeline and let out a groan. “Do I really have to come and drag you back here? We can do more exploring once we know nothing here wants to kill us, can’t we?”

                The dim, rust-coloured figure Jyn could still just spy between the trees paused, half-turning.

                “You want to check Marnoi’s records on R5-C3 first, right?” Jyn tried again.

                That finally seemed to work. Nari’s self-conscious sigh of laughter came through the comms, and she left the shade of the trees, her suit blazing bright red again under the cold light of Ossus’ cloudy sky.

                On board the ship, Jyn handed the monitor to Bodhi, who frowned as he flicked through its records history. She let Roht remove the filled collection jars from her belt, failing once more to hide her amusement as his ears turned pink.

                The inside of the suit was clammy and hot, and she grimaced as she removed the mask and began to unclip it. Her hair was ribboned with sweat, and her clothes felt like they’d not been changed in days. Shoving the atmosuit back into its storage space, Jyn only watched with momentary curiosity as Karid and the twins set to work on the new samples they’d brought. She descended the ladder to the hold and made a beeline for the ‘fresher, passing Baze and Chirrut’s peaceful forms as she went, and the small, angular mound of bedding where Cassian slept.

                When she emerged from the sonic, she felt almost renewed. She still wasn’t tired; the bright, blustery day outside, and the infectiousness of Nari’s excitement left her nerves jangling. But as she moved through the dim hold, the space on Cassian’s bunk gaped appealingly. Jyn flicked her gaze over Baze and Chirrut; Chirrut sat on the edge of the bunk, his head down and hand on his staff; he was perfectly still, his mind in another part of the universe. Baze lay back on the mattress behind him, his hands behind his head and his eyes closed serenely.

                Feeling transgressive, her heart hammering with a disproportionate excitement, Jyn shoved her boots under her own bunk and lightly stole under the edge of Cassian’s blanket, rolling onto her side to edge closer to his back. She didn’t disturb him by sliding an arm around him, but pressed her face close to his shoulder blades, breathing in the smell of him, and closing her eyes as though she’d be able to sleep.


	39. Chapter 39

It had taken every bit of self-control he could muster to stay still when his consciousness finally realised why he was pressed against the bulkhead, shoved to the edge of his own bunk. Only the most angular parts of her touched him: her fists drawn up to her face, knuckles digging into his upper back; her knees tucked in, wedged against the backs of his legs.

                Not until he was certain that she was asleep did he try and stretch out, squirming in the small space she’d left him to turn around, to lie facing towards her rather than away.

                She frowned, her hands clenching tighter for a moment, but then calmness settled again.

                Cassian leaned his back against the bulkhead and tried to understand what he was looking at. The memory of the panic he’d felt only a week or so ago, leaping from this very bunk to try and catch her as she sped off, still made his pulse quicken. Now it was like some wild animal had chosen to come and share his space. Well, not share it, exactly, but to be present in it.

                He glanced beyond the foot of his bunk, and saw Chirrut’s eyes twinkle in the darkness. The Guardian sat as he had done when meditating, his back ramrod straight, forming a right-angle with his legs and the bunk. But now he smiled over at Cassian, and the hand that didn’t hold his staff held one of Baze’s large hands in his own.

                Cassian nodded minutely, looking down again at Jyn with a frown. She’d probably not meant to fall asleep there; he probably hadn’t been meant to see her like this at all. He wondered if she’d run again if woken.

                Footsteps on the rungs of the ladder made him tense, but Bodhi moved smoothly and quietly. He rolled his eyes at the two pairs of people in the lower deck, but spoke quietly. “The samples all seem clear; some radiation, but not enough to do us any harm. I think if we want to know what happened to the other half of the planet, we’ll have to get samples from there directly. Anyway, there’s a pretty good light show in the sky, thought you might want to see it…”

                “Thank you, Bodhi,” Chirrut murmured, standing and turning to face Baze, rocking his shoulder lightly to jostle him from unconsciousness. Baze grumbled, but he woke easily enough, accepting Chirrut’s placatory kiss as he sat up groggily.

                Cassian looked doubtfully at Jyn again, and heard Bodhi’s chuckle. “Don’t worry, there aren’t any speeders parked outside this time,” he shrugged.

                Cassian managed a tense, breathy laugh, and waited until Bodhi and the others had left.

                After a moment’s consideration, drinking in her tight-coiled, but peaceful pose, he worked the fingers of his right hand into the clenched centre of her fist, gently prying apart her fingers to take her hand in his. An unimpressed grumble slipped from her lips, and she half rolled onto her back, sprawling a little over the expanse of mattress she’d already pushed him out of. She drew his hand with her, holding it to her chest as she kicked out at the covers.

                Unable to suppress a smile, he pulled back on the limb she’d taken with her, drawing her back onto her side, closer to him once more, as her complaints finally made it clear that she was now more awake than not.

                “Jyn,” he tried softly, as her eyes remained stubbornly closed. “Jyn, Bodhi’s called everyone upstairs. We should go and see what’s happening.”

                He could see the moment of realisation, even though her eyelids were still shut; her lips tightened for a minute and her eyebrows twitched. Then, slowly, she revealed her green irises, glaring at him though her grip on his hand remained strong. “You were supposed to be asleep,” she muttered.

                “I was.”

                “I didn’t wake you.”

                “Not directly. But being pinned to the bulkhead by your knees wasn’t that comfortable.”

                She narrowed her eyes and took her hand back, propping herself up on an elbow to bring her gaze level with his. Eventually, a small smirk won out over her glare, and she turned and rolled to a sitting position, leaning to reach her boots from where she’d left them.

                Cassian echoed her movements, eventually following her up the ladder to join the rest of the crew.

                They were gathered around the open landing ramp, looking up into Ossus’ cloud-swept heavens. Behind the dark formations, a soft evening sky was visible, and across it rainbows of light arced and flared. Ossus’ aurora was brighter than any he’d seen, and covered the whole backdrop above them. It was impressive, but gaudy; he looked across at Jyn, and thought of the meteors above Yavin 4 that the debris from the Death Star had formed. She didn’t return his look, but a smile spread across her face nonetheless.

…

Marnoi’s records indicated that what looked like a ridge running along the opposite side of the lake was more likely to be the overgrown ruins of some of the Jedi buildings. There was little space to land the ship closer, so they’d have to trek around the lake’s edge to approach the temples. Nari was raring to go, awake before anyone else, pacing the hold loudly and checking and re-checking her supplies.

                Jyn fiddled with her blaster; Cassian remembered the overstuffed bag she’d prepared on Jedha, nonchalantly handing it to Kaytu when she’d realised the walk they’d have to make. He saw her eye the twins’ packing warily, scoping out Baze’s armour and cannon, Chirrut’s nervous energy.

                Bodhi, Rhinzi and R5-C3 were to stay with the ship; despite the scepticism of everyone else, Karid insisted that he could make the journey, if supported by his nephews. Jyn and Cassian would accompany them, whilst Chirrut and Baze would split off with Nari when they got to the ruins. Leaving early, they hoped to be back at the ship with samples and an idea of the stability of the ruins, all within one of Ossus’ days.

                The planet’s weather was still windy, but thin gusts of misty rain were now also driven across their path. The grey of the lake merged with the grey of the sky as they trudged in file through damp undergrowth.

                When they were only halfway around the lake, Nari’s voice struck out, chanting a song about the Force she must have learnt in the days that Coruscant’s Jedi Temple still stood. Chirrut and Baze knew a version in their own dialect, and joined in; Jyn and Cassian grinned at each other through the rain, whilst the twins giggled nervously.

                The cheerful, discordant sound made winged creatures rear up from the undergrowth in front of them, flapping away in alarm at the intruders. It took their minds off damp socks and cold skin though, and the ridge of overgrown ruins soon rose up, vast before them as it hadn’t seemed form a distance.

                They gathered in a small circle at the corner of a mountain of green vegetation. The ground rose sharply under vines and ferns and other coiling leaves that choked down the structure beneath. Jorn waved a scanner over the surface, and a holo appeared above the machine, indicating the steps of the ziggurat below. It looked remarkably similar to the structures on Yavin 4, but Cassian couldn’t say whether that was because all ziggurats looked the same, or because Yavin 4 also had some ancient Jedi history he’d never learnt about.

                There had been no record in Marnoi’s notes as to where the entrances had been, and the shape on Jorn’s holo wasn’t defined enough to indicate an entryway. Instead, they were to split into two groups, one exploring the north and eastern lengths, along the edge of the lake, and the other pushing into the jungle to follow the western and southern sides.

                “What do you make of it, Chirrut?” Jyn asked before they divided.

                Chirrut held his staff in both hands and breathed deeply.

                “There’s a lot of history here,” he began cautiously. He muttered a few lines of the Sunset Prayer to himself, his eyes cast down to the wet ground. “We know of places in the galaxy that have strong connections to the Force; it’s not a surprise that this should be one of them. But it was abandoned for a reason, and we should remain respectful. There’s an … expectancy around this site, that I can’t explain. Tread lightly, damage nothing, and trust that the Force will reveal only what must be revealed.”

                Baze and Nari muttered sounds of agreement, and Jyn exchanged a shrug of acknowledgement with Cassian. Both of them caught Karid’s sour expression, and the way that Jorn ignored it by staring at the temple, and Roht did so by staring at his feet.

                Cassian resisted the urge to readjust his blaster. He and Jyn were armed in case the local wildlife proved unfriendly; or that was what they’d maintained.

                He wondered how he’d have treated someone like Karid had he encountered him as a contact. There’d been enough of them he’d had to string along, certain they’d turn on him eventually, pushing his suspicions down below the surface, acting like he could be caught off guard at any time; sometimes even getting caught off guard. But that was work that happened in darkened streets and hazy bars, round the back of sprawling markets and hidden bunkers, not out in the verdant spaces of an empty planet.

                The twins pushed ahead through the knee-high vegetation, trampling it so that Karid could follow more easily, flanked by Jyn and Cassian. Cassian watched the old man’s hesitant, particular footfalls, the fussy tilt to his elbows, the way he scanned the ground in surprise with each step, as though constantly amazed by his surroundings. Watching him, Cassian began to feel rueful about all their suspicions; the old man was no engineer, nor was he much of a talker, but with Baze, Chirrut, Jyn and himself around, how in the galaxy would he be a threat to them or the mission? How different was he from Rhinzi?

                Their small column hadn’t travelled far when the twins came to a halt. Cassian glanced over his shoulder to note that Baze, Chirrut and Nari were well out of sight, having disappeared around the corner of the overgrown temples. He turned his gaze back towards where Jorn approached the edge of the temple, letting a hand rest on the handle of his blaster and watching every movement with apprehension.

                “I think there might be an entrance under here. The signal’s a bit different,” Jorn eventually called out. Roht joined him to begin tugging at the plants on the slope before them.

                Jyn moved to join in, the three of them pulling back jumbles of stems and roots, tearing down handfuls of sandy earth and crumbling shards of yellow stone. Cassian found himself holding his breath, even though he expected nothing more than a musty, gaping tunnel to emerge from the rubble.

                Not even that had appeared when, minutes later, the twins and Jyn stood back, grimy and heavy-breathing, little more than a large, mucky step of the ziggurat revealed.

                Jyn turned to him with a laugh that Cassian echoed. Her eye sparkled and speckles of ochre soil freckled her cheek. She shrugged at the worried-looking twins. “False reading then! Keep looking,” she gestured at them to keep walking, waiting for Karid to lose this focus on the patch they’d cleared and to follow his nephews.

                The reading that had confused Jorn’s sensors continued as they picked their way alongside the banking slope of the ruins, but they didn’t attempt any more excavations, not until Karid paused and with a croak of interest pointed to a dark spot a few metres above them. Before the twins could return to where he’d stopped, Jyn was already wedging the toe of a boot into the soft soil, reaching forwards with already-grubby hands to pull herself up the steep bank. Cassian bit back a word of warning, seeing the muscles flex in her outstretched arm and coiled leg as she pushed herself up another step before the plants she held onto came loose.

                She scrambled up the rest of the way with little difficulty and turned to sit grinning by the hole in the greenery that Karid had spotted. She was damp and filthy, and looked unlike Cassian had ever seen her before: happier, _happy_ like he’d never seen, an innocent glee in her eyes. She withdrew her blaster and used the same hand to tilt her rainproof cap back, spreading black mud on the cap as she did so, and squinting down at them.

                “I’ll see where this leads; maybe there’s a doorway somewhere nearby.”

                She spread herself on her side in the wet leaves and crawled blaster first to peer into the hole.

                Cassian shouted her name as she spun away from a sudden movement; some shadow leapt from the darkness, whipping and coiling itself free with a rustle of undergrowth.

                Jyn lay on her back, her eyes round and blaster fixed on the large lizard that bolted down the slope; it hissed unhappily at having to wend its way around Karid’s frozen form but didn’t slow its retreat into the thicker plant-life leading down to the lake.

                Cassian’s shoulders had barely unwound as his own blaster lowered when another jolt of adrenaline went through him: there was a crash of broken glass, the muffled tinkle of shards hitting a hard surface, exploding in the embrace of a thick liquid. The lizard turned and hissed again as the vial that Jorn had shot at it broke on its hard scales; then it disappeared from sight.

                He turned to Jorn with a disbelieving exclamation. “What was that?”

                The boy was pale-lipped and wide-eyed, and tucked a small dart gun away with shaking hands. “I … I thought we should try and stop it. Find out more about it.”

                He let out an incredulous, hard laugh and surveyed Karid and Roht. The latter looked even more shaken than Jorn, but Karid wore little more than a small scowl. “Don’t waste it, Jorn,” he snapped.

                Cassian considered the weapon he’d just barely caught a glimpse of, and wondered whether to insist on confiscating it. He glanced up at Jyn, who looked as shocked as he felt, but she also managed to send a hard glare at Jorn.

                “ _What_ do you need that for?” she asked breathlessly.

                Jorn swallowed guiltily as he looked up at her. “Not all samples are as easy to collect as others; we need to find out …”

                “No,” Jyn said more firmly, sitting up on the slope. “You came to make sure this place was inhabitable; or at least not toxic. Now, the most we want from you is an answer to what happened to this planet to make the Jedi abandon it. I don’t see what taking pot-shots at the wildlife has to do with that.”

                Cassian moved around Karid and held out the hand that didn’t still contain his blaster. “Give me the dart gun.”

                Jorn looked to his uncle for support. “But we might need it, what if that … creature had been dangerous?”

                “Then you just proved how ineffectual your weapon was against it. This is why me and Jyn are here,” Cassian told him, trying to make his voice as smooth and steady as possible.

                With a reluctant sounding growl, Karid nodded at his nephew. “Give him the gun, Jorn.”

                Jorn withdrew it slowly from his jacket and dropped it into Cassian’s outstretched hand. “But I don’t see why you should be armed and we’re not …” he said sullenly, eyeing Cassian afterwards as though worried about the effect of his words.

                Cassian tucked the dart gun into a pocket and gave Jorn a friendly smirk. “Because we know what we’re doing with them, and we’re not likely to shoot you by accident.”

                “I can handle a—“ Jorn began before his brother cut him off, just as Cassian’s eyebrows raised in interest.

                “Shut _up_ , Jorn, we’re all on the same side here.”

                Cassian caught Jyn’s similarly knowing expression, but she reached up to switch the lights on her cap on. “Let’s try that a second time,” she shrugged, turning back to the tunnel from which the lizard had emerged.

                This time when she nudged her way in nothing happened. Cassian bit the inside of his lower lip as her head, shoulders, elbows, arse and then legs and boots disappeared into the space. He didn’t like the murky, indistinct fears that gathered consistency the less of her he could see; an unfamiliarly specific anticipation of what the worst could be.

                Her muffled shout was cheery when it came back, though; there was indeed a blocked entrance in that part of the slope, a stack of piled rocks that had become overgrown in the same manner as the rest of the building. Working from the outside, they uncovered the rocks quickly enough, and, when Jyn was once more outside the ruins with them, a thermal detonator and a modest explosion made the barrier looser and far easier to push through. The tunnel that emerged sighed grey in Ossus’ thin daylight, revealing a dusty, sandy path into the ruins.

                Cautiously, Jyn led the way, followed by the twins and Karid, with Cassian last. Cassian grimaced as the beams of their lights passed over smooth-edged stone walls; the most interesting thing about the austere Jedi aesthetic was the occasional offended skitter of a shadow as another local creature abandoned its dark solitude.

                Along the sides of the corridor they followed, more doorways had been blocked up, these with more skill and determination than the entranceway. For now, they just walked past them, winding their way into the centre of the building, searching for any room that might have been too substantial to have been hidden. Once, one of the twins paused to pick something off the floor; when questioned, Roht sighed with disappointment and showed Cassian and Jyn and the others a stone the size of a thermal detonator that he’d thought had been a holocron; he tossed it aside, but Cassian made a mental note to check the pockets of his jacket later.

                They’d spread into a long, meandering line, a bored shout occasionally echoing between them. It wasn’t until Jyn stopped, and from several metres down the corridor Cassian saw a faint glow light the toes of her boots and the fronts of her trousers, that he realised they’d finally come across something.

                As he went to step forwards, a question half-formed on his lips, a vibration shook the whole building. His legs braced against it and he fixed his eyes ahead on Jyn’s now-silhouetted form; the ruin shook again and he scanned his memory for any stories of concealed traps the Rebels had discovered when they moved into the Massassi temples, his blaster feeling useless in his hand.

                He shouted her name and she half-turned, but then the ground seemed to go from under her feet; he saw her knees buckle and she seemed to disappear in the blink of an eye.

                Even as Cassian shouted her name again, the building around him roared louder; the corridor shrank above them, darkness lowering between them and wherever Jyn had gone. Ahead of him, Roht reached for another grenade like the small one they’d used to enter the blocked temple doorway, evidently planning to blast the wall that was about to block their path. Cassian leapt forwards, arm outstretched, his warning also swallowed by the sound of stone moving on stone.

                Reluctantly, he made himself recoil from what was coming, but the shadow and slick orange flames grasped at the smooth edges of the stone around them. Cassian threw himself into what remained of a blocked doorway, trying to huddle into the shallow recess, gasping at the hot, dusty air and thinking hopelessly of the inexplicable sight of Jyn sinking into the stone floor. When the noise grew to an unbearable pitch he was almost relieved to be able to let everything, finally, still into the quiet of oblivion.


	40. Chapter 40

She swore as her ankles buckled on the unexpected new surface; the ground had gone out from under her, and Jyn’s stomach still felt like it was several metres above where she’d tumbled, cursing and growling as all the sharpest parts of her body met the stone steps that continued to descent away from her.

                She came to a stop on grazed knees and hands several blocks lower, squinting up against the milky white light that had glowed in the room above. She’d caught a glimpse of something like a nest, a cradled construction made not of vegetation, but of rock, living and pulsing and breathing as she’d stared into the room. Then it had responded to something, and as its glow grew brighter, the temple’s layout had changed around her.

                Jyn glanced once into the darkness at the bottom of the stairs, then hauled herself to her feet and sprinted back to the top, Cassian’s shout ringing in her ears. She called back, but her voice rebounded cruelly off the jumble of stone that she now faced. Tentatively, she tried the names of the others, hearing her voice waver as the echoes continued to mock her.

                She eyed her comm mistrustfully, and surely enough, the only response she got from any channel was a constant whine of static.

                Jyn spun and stalked around the room in which the staircase had appeared, eyeing the crystals at its centre. Their colour was the same as the one she wore around her neck, the same hint of veins of light running through them; she was sure if she touched them, they’d be warm just like her own kyber crystal. Jyn didn’t reach out though, she just made a noise of frustration and looked again at the rubble that blocked her way back. The temple had been rearranging itself around them, but an explosion had interfered with that rearrangement, and now she could see no order to the ruined doorway. Although she pawed at the rocks for a few minutes, periodically shouting a question, or Cassian’s name again, she barely made a dent in the pile, and her fingertips soon felt raw and bruised.

                Refusing to contemplate the small room any more than she had to, Jyn shoved away thoughts of Lah’mu, of prison cells and brigs, and clenched her hands into fists, heavily striding down the staircase as though it was something she did entirely of her own volition.

                The lights on her cap didn’t help her see far ahead, but the stairwell wasn’t deep, and when she ducked under a lintel at the opening of the tunnel it led into, she couldn’t suppress a small gasp of wonder.

                The ceiling was dotted with more tiny shards of crystal, their light low, dormant, but enough to indicate that the tunnel continued ahead for some way. With only a slight quake in her fingers, Jyn reached up to switch the lights on her cap off. She removed it and shoved it into a pocket so that its brim didn’t interfere with her view of the crystals.

                Gently, she reached a hand up to them, brushing her raw fingers along the surface and shivering at the heat they emitted. The air in the corridor was musty and thick, unmoved for years. As Jyn walked, she kept her arm up until it ached, trailing her touch along the ceiling and thinking of everything, _anything_ that she could, except the fact that anyone — that _Cassian_ — had been trapped in the rockfall. Her distractions led her into an unreality of half-formed memories: her father pacing and muttering as he studied one of those little crystals, turning it over and over in his hands. Her mother using one as a talisman, a comforting thing to touch whenever a ship from the trading post nearby passed too close over their farm.

                The tunnel travelled at a slight angle, and twisted in a few ways that caused Jyn’s chest to tighten whenever she lost sight of the direction it took ahead or behind her. As long as she kept moving she could outpace the tendrils of fear probing curiously at her back. She stopped only once, when to her surprise, she found herself muttering Chirrut’s prayer. With a shake of her head and a shrug to show nothing but the crystals that she was unaffected by this whole experience, Jyn plunged on.

                She hadn’t checked her chronometer when she’d gone into the tunnel, so she had no idea how long she’d been in the tunnel when the ground under her boots began to grow damp and soft again, and the air started to move in gusts; cool, wet air being swept off the lake.

                The tunnel ended in a thin gap between wet rocks. She pushed herself through it gratefully, not glancing back once at the eerily-lit pathway she’d taken, and focussing only on the beautiful sight of _Rogue One_ ’s dark form, crouched on the edge of the jungle on the other side of the lake.

                There was no shore to speak of between the rocky edge of the land that Jyn had emerged from and the water. Her boots splashed in its shallows and she couldn’t see a way around to her right or left. Above, the climb would have been difficult, covering slick, smooth stone and ending in an overhang where the buried temple jutted up against the ledge of rock.

                She grimaced and curled her still damp feet inside her boots. The warmth of the tunnel below the light of the crystals had dried the outer layers of her clothing, but the morning’s walk still clung in damp patches to her trousers and sleeves. With a sigh of resignation, Jyn threw down her small pack and blaster and peeled off her cloak, jackets, boots, holster and trousers, until all the heavy, bulky cloth was bundled together within the rainproof cloak. She shivered in the wind on the shore and strode out into the lake water with a determined stream of swear words directed at herself.

                Holding the bundle up, she waded into the cool water, relieved nonetheless to be out of the wind. She wasn’t grateful to Codo for teaching her to swim when she’d been with Saw and the Partisans — she wasn’t sure she’d ever manage to be grateful to Codo for anything after what he’d tried next — but at least the expanse of bright, sky-filled lake didn’t intimidate her. Eventually she pushed her toes off from the slimy rocks she trod on and began the swim across the lake, keeping her bundle of clothes and weapons above the water-level and keeping her eyes fixed on the shuttle mantling low over the shore of the lake.

                She’d get back to Bodhi and they’d fly across the lake, and she’d blast whatever jungle she had to, to land closer to the ruins, and then she’d find Cassian and the others. And soon enough they’d all be together, laughing in the hold under rough, dry blankets, watching the colours skitter across Ossus’ evening sky again.

                Jyn clamped her teeth shut and breathed deeply through her nose, imagining the promise of this vision was right in front of her, a campfire at the foot of the landing ramp that slowly, slowly came into focus as she swam towards the shuttle, red algae clutching needily to the skin of her arm and neck.

                She was still a few hundred metres from the shore when she saw movement by the landing ramp; a figure ghosted up it through the shadows and she caught the alarmed beeping of R5-C3, followed by raised voices. Jyn paused to tread water, fumbling her wet right hand into the bundle she carried and hefting her blaster above the surface of the lake. She edged closer through the deep water, waiting with bated breath until she saw someone emerging once more.

                Jyn edged her bundle in front of her, wondering whether the boots in it would provide much cover if whoever it was did fancy shooting at her. There’d been no sound of blaster-fire from the ship, but she could now see that it was neither Bodhi nor Rhinzi who had emerged, but one of the twins.

                Even as his quick scan of the area detected her, exposed out in the lake, Jyn recognised him as Jorn. He must have jogged the whole way around the lake to get back before her, either that or the tunnel she’d followed had been considerably longer than she’d realised. Jyn paused, hiding her blaster hand behind the bundle again. Her suspicions were confirmed momentarily though when she saw Jorn drop the cases he was carrying and fumble inside his jacket pocket. Her warning shot didn’t deter him, not least because aiming whilst treading water wasn’t the easiest thing, and her mark was even wider than she’d intended it to be.

                A sick, icy feeling spread through her when she saw him raise the dart gun Cassian had confiscated earlier. She flinched from the cold slap of water that was raised by his first shot, twisting her body underwater to stay out of its path.

                Her return fire was closer to the mark than her initial shot had been, one blast of plasma hissing off the ship’s hull and another sending a spray of gravelly sand across Jorn’s trouser leg.

                His next one hit her gun though, the shock of the smashed glass and the metallic smell of the vial’s contents making Jyn lose her grip on the weapon.

                She ducked her own body under the water’s surface as the blaster sank, its muzzle filling with water. She forced her eyes open below the surface, seeing its power-pack flare as it tumbled down like a doomed spaceship. Another dart arrowed through the water, forcing her to squirm aside again.

                When she resurfaced, she saw Jorn reloading the little gun, his sandy hair flopping over his forehead and his hands wobbling. Jyn struck off again, trying to close the distance between them, pushing her little bundle ahead of her.

                He looked up again too soon though, and Jyn twisted herself underwater again, hoping to confuse his aim. As she kicked, trying to turn herself so that she was as far below the surface as she could be, she saw the stream of bubbles left by the dart’s path through the water. She couldn’t quite move her leg quickly enough, and she saw dark little clouds of blood puff up from the scratch the passing needle drew on her skin. Its course slowed, and the vial and needle bobbed with her underwater as she gathered herself to push for the surface, thinking of the sedatives Roht had shown her and dreading the idea of passing out underwater, even if only a fraction of the solution had made it into her bloodstream.

                It wasn’t a numbing, soporific feeling that spread through her limb though. Jyn’s teeth ached and she tightened her jaw further, a spasm wracking the muscles of the leg that had been hit. From her toes to her hip, her nerve endings lit up, the feeling threatening to keep travelling through her body. It was then that she recalled where she’d smelt that metallic drug before, and she loosened her grip on her bundle of clothes, forcing her body lower, forcing her lungs to hold onto the air they’d drawn in that bit longer. She screwed her eyes up against the sparks of pain in her leg and tried to be as still as possible below the surface.

                When the roaring in her ears reached the level of the roaring of stone and explosion that had driven her from the temple, Jyn finally let her body have its way and plunged gratefully for the surface. It had been long enough; Jorn had turned from the shore and she saw him jogging away into the treeline, following some other path to the temple ruins.

                Jyn gasped and shook her leg underwater, gathering up her bundle once more and pushing her trembling body through the water, again towards _Rogue One_.

                As she approached the shallows, she saw a most welcome sight: Bodhi stumbling down the landing ramp, shaking his right arm and fumbling a blaster in his left hand. His wide, roving stare found her almost immediately and he waved, beckoning her to swim faster, then turning to retrieve a blanket as the thought occurred to him that she’d be cold and wet in nothing but her underwear and shirt.

                Jyn tumbled shivering from the water, the fire in her nerves vying with the cold of the elements. She grabbed the proffered blanket gladly and shot a suspicious look across the lake, pulling Bodhi inside the ship by his elbow.

                “Are you alright?”

                “What happened?”

                “How’s Rhinzi?”

                “Where are the others?”

                Bodhi broke the impatient silence after their overlapping questions first. “I’ll make you some caf to warm you up. Tell me what happened — last I heard was from Nari, she commed to say they’d found something; Chirrut had sensed something incredible. Then it went to static, and I haven’t been able to raise any of you since!”

                Jyn grimaced, moving to where Rhinzi’s prone body lay on the flight chairs. He had a pulse, but it was sluggish, and his lips were bluer than was healthy. “Whatever Chirrut sensed seems to have sensed him back.” She described the kyber crystals and the way the temple had tried to close in on them, protecting its exits even as it revealed the nurseries of small gems. “Then there was an explosion, I think Roht was trying to stop the exit from closing. I was trapped on one side of it, I don’t know what happened to the others …” she swallowed the fear in her words, making herself focus on loosening Rhinzi’s collar and propping him up against a folded jacket.

                Bodhi fidgeted as he prepared to hand her a mug. His right arm moved like he had to fight for control of it, and its grip on the vessel was inconsistent. Jyn reached over and took the hot drink, frowning at the limb. “What about you? What did Jorn do?”

                “He surprised Rhinzi, stuck a sedative in him I think,” Bodhi eyed her, then dismissed the question he obviously wanted to ask, saving it for later. “There’s a restraining bolt on R5, but it won’t take me a minute to get it off. I managed to catch him unawares, talked nonsense and persuaded him to just go easy; offered him the cybernetic arm to inject and then played … well, not dead,” Bodhi gulped as he looked at Rhinzi’s still form. “Just asleep.”

                Jyn peered at the puncture wound Bodhi showed her in his synthetic limb. “I don’t think it’s done wonders for the electronics, but it did keep me conscious,” he shrugged.

                “Really good thinking,” she murmured, eyes unfocussing as the smell and taste of the caf sent waves of warmth through her cold skin. “But what did he want? What’s he _doing_? I knew Karid was a bit … off, but what do they think they can achieve here?”

                She blinked and looked at Bodhi. “They didn’t cause the tunnel collapse deliberately.” She said it more to reassure herself than anything else. If she’d missed some scheme and it had resulted in Cassian’s … she shuddered and took a deep drink of caf. She needed to get back there as quickly as possible.

                “He wouldn’t say much,” Bodhi shook his head. “Just something about ‘making things right for his uncle’. He had the grace to say it was nothing personal,” he sneered. “Was it the crystals? Does he think he can sell them to the Empire?” Bodhi said a word Jyn had never heard him say before; she wondered whether he’d learnt it on board _Rogue One_ , from one of Saw’s people, or back in his academy days. “You don’t think he wants to help them make a second …”

                Jyn brushed a hand through the air. “Whatever he wants with the crystals it can’t be good.” She scowled at the hint of a memory. “Nari said the Empire’s ravaged pretty much every other planet where they grew naturally. That’s why my father was working on synthetic alternatives. But if they didn’t have to finish that work … if, like before, they could just use a free, natural supply …”

                She finished her caf. “Whatever’s going on, I’m heading back over there to stop it.”

                “I’m coming,” Bodhi’s words followed hot on the heels of hers, and he raised the blaster held clumsily in his left hand.

                Gently, Jyn pried it from him. “This is Baze’s broken spare. The power-pack is cracked,” she told him. “You can fly this with R5, right? Get me closer to the temples, so I don’t have to play catch-up with Jorn. Then be ready to light up anything I tell you to light up.”

                She saw Bodhi consider fighting her; on the surface, he really wanted to be her blaster-toting partner in that moment. But then she saw him consider their possibilities and he nodded. “Yeah, I can get you close.”


	41. Chapter 41

It wasn’t the things he could feel that jolted him into consciousness, rather it was the dull numbness of his blaster arm. Cassian pushed himself off the ground with a gasp, his left arm shaking as he looked down to note with relief that his right arm, too, was still there. Along with his blaster it had been wedged uncomfortably under his body, which was covered with a fine coating of grey dust and fragments of shrapnel and rock in various sizes.

                He sat up, freeing his legs with some awkwardness, but suffering from nothing more than a few grazes and bruising. His still tender ribs had been well-cushioned in his thick coat, and judging by the time it was taking for feeling to return to his fingers, his right arm had certainly taken the brunt of the impact of his fall. Cassian shook his hand out, grimacing at the dark piles of rubble around him and wondering what had become of the twins and their uncle. As he patted his chest down, confirming that no new breaks seemed to have happened, he paused when his bare hand met a cold, wet patch on his coat. His breath stopped; was this the injury that would see him off? A hidden, unfelt wound, deep and heavy-bleeding, a shard of stone that had made its way through cloth and padding and skin and bone?

                His fingers didn’t return dark from the damp area on his coat though. Through the thick, dusty air, a new smell greeted him: stringent, metallic, familiar though he wished it wasn’t. It filled his mind with memories of brightly-lit rooms, reds and whites glistening off Imperial black and chrome. His heartrate increased with the urge to run when he smelt it, but his wrists burned with the memory of restraint; it was, he knew with certainty, an Imperial torture drug.

                Cautiously, Cassian delved still-tingling fingers into his pocket, where they found the smashed remains of a vial from Jorn’s dart gun. The gun itself was gone.

                He looked around the wreckage again and got unsteadily to his feet. There were scuffed trails in the recently disturbed debris, so he guessed that his pockets had been looted and that whoever had done so had simply left as quickly as possible, perhaps hoping that he just wouldn’t regain consciousness if left where he’d fallen.

                Cassian hefted his blaster and returned down the corridor they’d followed earlier, following the faintest indication of the outside light. When he came to the trampled vegetation at the temple’s entrance he squinted across the lake, sighing at the sight of _Rogue One_ there. Someone else had evidently emerged from the explosion in the tunnel, and they’d decided they’d needed that dart gun. He scanned the treeline and the lake but saw nothing moving. He checked another pocket and grimaced at the feeling of smashed chips and plasteel casing; his comm wasn’t going to be any use either.

                Maybe he could find Chirrut and the others; they’d been exploring the temple from the other side of its overgrown ridge. He frowned at the slope and his lips thinned angrily as he remembered Jyn’s delighted grin, her wet sleeve cuffs and muddy boots as she’s scrambled up the side of it earlier. She could still have been buried in the heart of that rich, grassy mound, and he had no idea how to get to her.

                Cassian finally holstered his weapon, gritted his teeth as he bent over his complaining ribs, and pulled himself up to a foothold on the green slope. Step by step, in an ungainly four-limbed scrabble, he gained height. It would have been too simple to think of Scarif; the unreliable surface was nothing like the black plast handles of datatapes, and below him was soft, loamy earth, not the sharp teeth of a durasteele grille waiting to embrace him after any mistake he might make.

                The slope softened as he scaled it, but when he reached the top of the temple, he crawled low to the earth, peering into the treetops below him, scanning the area for any sign of activity. This side of the temple was already sinking into a twilit gloom as Ossus’ sun began to sag in the sky above the lake, pushing a few last determined rays through the low clouds that had soaked them earlier.

                The added darkness suited Cassian fine, and he began a cautious descent, stopping every now and then to scan the area once more. On this side of the temple the other group hadn’t resorted to such explosive measures to gain entry; only a few metres from the ground, Cassian saw a stone entrance jut from the overlaying soil and plants, and as he slid silently into its shadow he heard voices from inside the ruins.

                “We could try the detonators …”

                “I think you’ve already made enough of a mess with those. No. This may need more finesse. We know there are crystals growing in all these antechambers; if we can work out how to get into one, we can get into them all.”

                “I thought it would help. I thought we were going to get crushed.”

                “I know what you thought — and you nearly did crush us! At least it seems to have got one of our minders out of the way …”

                “And Jyn …”

                “Huh, well that’s your own fault, too. Pass me that scanner, let’s see what this is made of.”

                Cassian waited as the darkness from the forest spread across the entrance of the temple, then stepped cat-like into the doorway, edging along the walls in search of the voices. At the end of the corridor was a T-junction, and the faint glow of an electric lamp told him which way to follow. It was then several more turns before he was certain that Karid and Roht were around the next twist in the temple’s corridors.

                He gathered, listening to them, that Karid hoped to buy his way back into Imperial favour; he’d sold up the injustice of the loss of his job to his nephews, who thought they’d be helping smuggle Jedi artefacts out, or preserving unusual animal specimens that might help win Karid a scientific prize back on Coruscant. Cassian could hear in Karid’s voice that he cared far less what he had to bargain in in order to return to his former position, however.

                Certain now of their position relative to one another, and to where he stood, Cassian turned the corner and in two long, fast strides had his blaster pressed to Roht’s neck.

                “Let’s stop this now,” he hissed in the younger man’s ear, feeling the fear ripple through Roht, even as Karid spat an array of Imperial-sanctioned slander at him. As Roht struggled half-heartedly, Cassian pushed the gun’s muzzle harder into the soft spot below his jawbone and used his free hand to wrench free the bag containing their remaining thermal detonators. Roht made a weak sound of protest, whilst Karid tried to circle around them without being noticed. Cassian followed his movement, keeping Roht between them.

                “Is that the room that the others are in?” Cassian nodded at the sealed door they stood in front of. When Karid didn’t answer him he dug the fingers of his left hand into the back of Roht’s hair and pulled his head back, shifting the blaster along the soft skin of his neck to press a new brand into its pale expanse.

                The boy cried out, but Karid remained impassive. “Yes!” Roht finally replied. “We think so, that’s where N-Nari, and Chirrut and Baze are. We heard them talking about the crystals. Chirrut can sense them, something about who put them there, what this place is.” More irrelevant words tumbled out; apologies for the explosion, apologies for Jyn, explanations about the room, that the door had shut under some invisible hand that none of them had controlled. Cassian barely listened.

                One of Karid’s hands had gone to a pocket.

                “Don’t do that,” he murmured. “Don’t make me do this.”

                “Uncle! Listen to him, he’ll shoot me!”

                Roht’s fear made acid rise in his throat. Cassian’s arm ached: he was already holding up more of the boy’s bodyweight than before; terror eroded Roht’s strength as they continued their slow, pacing dance, following Karid’s own ponderous movement.

                “Why not let me take the crystals?” Karid finally offered, as reasonably as he could in his stiff, rasping voice. “Why stop that?”

                “I know what those crystals are used for.”

                Karid shrugged. One hand was still out of sight. “But that’s not their only use. My research is harmless, I …”

                He trailed off at Cassian’s grim laugh, raising his eyebrows querulously.

                “I know the tools of your trade. Whether you used them or developed them; it doesn’t matter to me,” he shrugged, adjusting the grip on his blaster slightly.

                Karid’s attempts at levity disappeared like dust swept clean by the wind. His blue eyes glittered meanly in the low light. “That’s a crude example of what I can do. I’ve developed things too strange for the Empire to even know how to use them.”

                Karid withdrew a small dart gun from his pocket and Cassian wondered that the old man hadn’t killed him when he’d retrieved it from his prone body earlier. Instead, now he was going to make Cassian kill the whimpering boy he held, just so that the last thing he’d do would sink him right back into the accumulated past of his work for the Rebellion.

                He kept his body behind Roht’s, and as Karid raised his own weapon, Cassian swore and pointed his blaster at Karid instead. He knew it was the wrong thing to do; if he’d shot Roht he might have stood a chance of hitting Karid too, as the old man paused in a flash of some inevitable, blood-induced hesitation or regret. Instead, before Cassian could pull the trigger, Karid had fired one dart into Roht’s chest, and when Roht’s body danced in pain it ceased to be an effective cover. Cassian’s shot went off at the same time as he felt Karid’s second vial impact on his shoulder, and then a cry from behind him told him that the third member of their party had survived.

                Jorn dashed into the dark space, shoving Cassian from behind with a barrel of his shoulder and grabbing at his blaster.

                He knew the effect of the drug, and he tried not to fight it, but fire flashed along his limbs and sparks lit up his joints. He fell chin first into the hard dirt, his jaw clenching as every other muscle in his body fought to contract, to push against the sudden stimulation of Karid’s drug.

                Jorn hesitated above him for a moment, transfixed with horror at Roht’s gargled wails.

                Curled on his side, rounding over his knees, Cassian forced himself to find a moment of calm; somewhere he could get air into his lungs and words out. “Restrain him,” he manged hoarsely. “Do something or he’ll choke on his own tongue!”

                Jorn looked at Karid, who stood where he had been standing when he’d fired on first Roht and then Cassian. He watched their agonies with a look of bored disgust.

                A shiver running through his shoulders, Jorn crouched, first to attach a pair of stun cuffs stolen from _Rogue One_ to Cassian’s wrists. The bag of detonators lay long forgotten against the wall of the tunnel. Cassian's frustration emerged in a strangled growl, but Jorn was already moving to Roht, smoothing, coaxing his brother’s arcing, offended body with his hands, pushing him and rolling him until Roht struggled instead from a position in which he was less likely to swallow or bite his tongue. Jorn tore a strip of material from his ragged jacket and tied it around his brother’s head, trying to keep his jaw still and shut, then he looked up at Karid with a dark, wondering light in his eyes.

                “You’re hit, Uncle,” he said hoarsely.

                Cassian forced his body into a position that let him see what damage he’d managed to do: an angry red welt lit Karid’s upper arm, and a scorched hole in the wall behind him smoked. Not enough. Not close enough.

                Karid didn’t even glance at it. “We need to get into that room,” he gestured at the impassive stone.

                Jorn shrugged, standing. “Maybe not. I saw …” he glanced at his brother. “I saw the Erso girl when I was at the ship. She must have got out some other way, she was swimming across the lake.”

                Cassian tried not to react to the news that Jyn had survived the collapse inside the tunnel, but Karid eyed him and Roht closely, finally stepping forward. He crouched over Cassian, who held himself still with every ounce of will he could apply to his screaming nerve endings.

                “Is that news of interest to you?”

                “I … I think I hit her. She was in the deep part of the lake,” Jorn added. “I didn’t see her surface …”

                As Karid turned his glance upwards, Cassian summoned all the inarticulate fury that Jorn’s last words released in him. He tensed and flexed his body, sitting up and slamming his forehead into Karid’s nose. The old man stumbled back, but Jorn pointed his dart gun at Cassian, who sat as placidly as he could with his body shaking and Karid’s hot blood on his face.

                Karid rolled on his back like a trapped insect for a moment, then crawled to his feet and grasped for Cassian’s blaster, which Jorn still had.

                Cassian tilted his chin and lowered his eyelids. The hope that had returned to him so swiftly when he’d thought Jyn had escaped had been weighted and thrown to the bottom of the lake now. He knew that Chirrut and Baze and Nari would take care of Karid once they emerged from the temple. But he’d always been destined to die a small, petty death, and he tried to calm his breathing as he waited for Karid to fire.

                Jorn snatched the weapon back into his grip. “No, Uncle! He’s a bargaining chip, isn’t he? As much as the crystals? Just think what they’ll say on Coruscant if you bring them a Rebel intelligence officer. One behind the destruction of the Death Star, no less.”

                Karid glared at Cassian. “They’re too much work. Even on Coruscant they’ll struggle to get much out of him.” His voice was thick through the blood from his nose; he didn’t even try to stem it as it poured onto his clothing.

                Jorn grimaced as Cassian chuckled drily.

                “Tell them to take you back,” tried Jorn again. “Only your work can help them get to his information.”

                Cassian laughed more heartily; his ‘information’ would already be woefully out of date. By the time anyone could get him to Coruscant he’d be no more use to Imperial intelligence than a simple grunt.

                Jorn looked at him desperately, and Cassian saw the plea in his eyes: _I’m trying to save your life!_ He just shook his head and looked at the dirty floor, reflecting that he’d always known he’d be killed by the incompetents of the galaxy; skill could be anticipated, but naïve bungling was continually unpredictable.

                Surely enough Karid let the point go, accepting Jorn’s compliment to his work. “Bring your brother. Let’s see if we can discover how she got out of that room.”

                Roht’s shaking had diminished. He looked at his brother with large eyes, the whites as bleached and clear as his skin. Slowly, Jorn helped him sit up and untied the cloth from his head. “Can you stand?”

                Roht nodded, following up shakily with: “I think so.”

                Jorn hauled him to his feet and pressed the blaster into Roht’s hands. He looked down at Cassian with what might have been apology and grabbed the bar between his cuffs, hauling him to his feet. Cassian leaned back with sullen reluctance, but shrugged at Roht’s whispered “ _please_ ,” and walked obediently ahead of them, feeling out every inch of his body’s suffering as he went and trying to roll the pain out of his shoulders and neck.


	42. Chapter 42

Jyn’s form flickered between the cover of tall trees, silent and smooth as the movement of the native animals that only fled when they detected that her scent was different. She had no blaster, but she was afraid of nothing except the nagging annoyance that maybe Cassian hadn’t got out of that Force-forsaken cave-in. One hand was always ready by her truncheon, and she bore no limp from the dart Jorn had fired now; her skin still tingled, as though she’d been stung all over by something, but adrenaline turned this hyper-awareness to her advantage.

                Bodhi had brought the ship low over the lake, letting her jump from its hold as close to the forest’s edge as he dared take her. For now, he’d returned to their original landing site, not wanting to raise suspicions if the ship’s movement hadn’t already been noticed.

                Jyn approached the temple’s jungle-side entrance in thickening darkness. She recoiled into the undergrowth as she heard voices approach, and hoped the glint of her eyes didn’t show up through the gloom.

                She tensed, about to pounce as soon as she identified the group: Karid led, his chin and chest dark with spilled blood, and then came Cassian, his head thrown back and eyes low. His hands were held in front of him in stun cuffs, blood spattered his forehead, and his lips had an almost proud tilt to them. Behind him, Jorn supported his brother, who listlessly aimed a blaster at Cassian’s back.

                He was alive. He was walking, seemingly not injured seriously. He’d broken Karid’s nose. Jyn suppressed the delighted grin that threatened to steal over her, and made herself wait. She gathered from Karid’s nasally orders that they were heading to the lakeside, intending to begin a search for the exit she’d used earlier.

                Knowing that theirs was a losing game, not least in the fading light, Jyn waited until they’d passed her by and then darted into the temple. She called for Chirrut, Baze and Nari once she was far enough inside that she thought her voice wouldn’t reach the outside, and eventually came to a scuffed area of ground outside a smooth stone doorway. She flicked the beam of her portable light over the ground and walls and called again.

                A muffled reply finally reached her, and some impulse made her draw her necklace out, looking down at the crystal in puzzlement as she did so. It was warmer than usual, its veins of light pulsing quickly.

                She jumped as a sound rolled through the wall in front of her and she stepped back hastily. The stones peeled away from each other, disappearing with a reluctant growl into hidden recesses in the doorway. Framed by the opening stood Chirrut, leaning on his staff and frowning at the floor in concentration.

                Nari and Baze exploded in cheers to either side of him and carried the Guardian through the entrance with their embrace. Jyn caught them with her own swift, distracted hug.

                “What happened?” she asked, turning already towards the exit, her mind more on Cassian than on the answer to her question.

                “Chirrut freed us!” Nari exclaimed.

                Chirrut smiled and clapped Jyn on the back. “I just needed something to concentrate on. The temple would only let us out when it was certain there was no more threat to the crystal nurseries. Jyn, I persuaded it that your necklace was a lightsabre hanging at the belt of the galaxy’s last Jedi.”

                She snorted incredulously and looked up at Baze as they walked. “Well we’d better get out of here before it figures out otherwise, hadn’t we?”

                “What about you?” asked Baze. “What’s been going on out here? We heard shots, and Chirrut said Cassian might have been in trouble.”

                Jyn gave him a tight-lipped look. “Karid’s got him. I don’t know what it’s about; Jorn tried taking pot-shots at me and sedating Bodhi and Rhinzi. They’re trying to find a way back to the crystals.”

                “So the crystals are in danger?” Chirrut pressed her.

                “Well, no. We’re going to stop them,” Jyn replied simply, slowing her walk as they left the temple, and making sure her step didn’t crunch or squelch in the mud leading around the temple and down to the lake.

                At the corner of the temple’s overgrown side, they peered down at the silhouetted figures on the shore. Karid was instructing Jorn of something, pointing out across the water, and the other two figures sat on the gravelly shore by them. Jyn threw an arm out to stop Baze as he went to storm past her, his cannon raised.

                “Wait,” she hissed. “Roht’s got Cassian’s blaster.” It wasn’t exactly aimed, but it was pointed loosely in Cassian’s direction as Roht sat staring listlessly at him.

                “Jyn,” Chirrut murmured in her ear, gripping her arm. “The twins are very uncertain. They think you’re dead. You might be able to get close enough to them. Talk to them.”

                She squeezed his hand back and tensed, peering around their cover again.

                “You can’t go out there, seriously,” Nari tugged on the back of her jacket.

                Jyn looked back at her with a wide-eyed shrug. She’d been planning on going anyway, with or without Chirrut’s encouragement or Nari’s warning.

                “I’m going,” she told her, shrugging her sleeveless jacket off to leave it dangling uselessly in Nari’s grip.

                Roht tensed at the sight of movement, and Jyn slowed her step, raising her palms and waiting for him to recognise her. Karid and Jorn faced the lake, and didn’t immediately register her presence. She tried not to look at Cassian’s face; the relief he tried to hide was mingled with hurt and fear. Roht shook his head; he tried to gesture to her to go back, but his hand made a slight sound as he removed it from the blaster’s grip. Jorn and Karid looked down at him then up at her.

                Jyn froze mid-step, then planted her boot decisively. “I get it,” she said to Roht, flicking a glance at his brother too. “He’s family. He’s the only family you have left. And he’s hurting, and you want to do something to help. But think about it: you have a choice, here. It doesn’t feel like you do, because everything else that mattered is gone. But you do.”

                She flinched at how reedy and wavering her voice sounded, but she had their attention at least. A glint of admiration lit up Cassian’s eyes; she saw a corner of his mouth pull up in a minute smirk.

                “I went through my life thinking my father was like him,” she gestured at Karid. “That he thrilled in his work, in all the ways of killing people with one of those crystals that he could discover. And I told myself that I had no family. That he was as good as dead to me. But that wasn’t true.”

                She was about halfway between the temple and the shoreline now, and she saw Karid’s patience expiring. He held his own dart gun and began to raise his arm. Jyn acted like she couldn’t see it.

                “As soon as I had the chance to believe in him again, I _took it_. What would I have done if we’d got to Eadu and he’d actually been the loyal Imperial I’d been led to believe he was? I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe, like you are now, I’d have refused to believe it. I’d have done everything I could to have a semblance of the normal life that I’d dreamed of.”

                Karid’s shot whistled wild over her shoulder as she leaned away from it, but the provocation drew Baze and Chirrut out of hiding, their cannon and bowcaster providing her with some sense of cover.

                “But the normal life you’re looking for? It won’t be yours. Not on Coruscant. Not if you go back with him. The Empire treated him poorly? He’d been a loyal worker for years, then he was reshuffled, and he didn’t cope well? I know that story, too. But that stuff —“ she pointed at the dart gun in Karid’s hands. “You know what that is now? Even if you didn’t when we arrived on Ossus? It’s not for preserving samples. It’s the most widely-used Imperial torture serum in the galaxy. And you want to take him back to Coruscant and get him his old job back so he can make _more_ of that stuff? How is that going to make up for Alderaan? For the gap in your hearts that left? Doing a good deed by him because he’s family won’t help. You have to make your own families now.”

                She looked at Cassian and then glanced nervously over her shoulder at Baze and Chirrut. Karid eyed them too, but he still held the dart gun out. She was now so close that if he fired she’d find it hard to dodge. Jyn turned her eyes away from Roht’s miserable expression and met Karid’s cold blue eyes. She tilted her head at him. “There’s no way you’re getting those crystals off-world. Even if you somehow stop all of us, the temples won’t let you take them.”

                Karid’s upper lip twitched and his finger tightened. Jyn felt the impact of the dart in her side as the light from Baze’s shot travelled past her, the glare temporarily blinding her. With a grunt, she pulled the vial from her clothes, swearing and the fire of pain began to course through her again.

                Jyn squinted at Karid, expecting to see a smouldering hole in his chest. Instead he stood just as he had been, his mouth a little open with surprise. At his feet, Jorn curled around the injury he’d taken for his uncle. White, searing rage provoked Jyn’s body. She thought of an underground cell on Corulag. She thought of a courtyard on Terminus. Jyn leaned into the pain, the memory of the blows of stun prods: she snarled and closed the distance between herself and Karid, leaping over Jorn’s body to slam into his small, bird-like chest.

                He landed beneath her, his head slapping the edge of the lake and the dart gun falling from his hand. Jyn’s fists met his face repeatedly: she thought of every lie she’d been told about her father over the years he’d been under Krennic’s watch. The man under her fists was the monster she’d made him out to be back then, the monster that the Rebellion had thought it needed to eliminate, the one Cassian hadn’t been able to see at the end of his telescopic lens on Eadu.

                Eventually Jyn gasped, a sob bursting surprised from her lips. She sat back, her bruised fists raised to cover her mouth. Karid groaned, but he wasn’t going to move again under the watchful gaze of Chirrut and his bowcaster. Jyn stood awkwardly, feeling the effects of the nerve serum pull and pluck at her muscles. Nari and Baze leaned over Jorn, whose injury was bad, but treatable, and Cassian watched her quietly from where he stood, his blaster back in his cuffed hands and pointed now loosely at Roht’s stricken face.

                “I liked the speech,” he shrugged. “But that last bit might have been more effective.”

                Jyn let a wet laugh escape her throat. “Story of my life …” she rummaged in a pocket for her comm, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as she strode stiffly along the beach, pain following each step doggedly. “Bodhi? Can you get the ship as close to the temple as possible right about now? No, I don’t care how many trees you have to flatten.”

                As they waited, Ossus’ sky vied for attention once more, but no one looked up. Roht edged closer to Karid so that Chirrut’s bowcaster covered both of them, and offered Cassian a small, apologetic shrug. Cassian holstered his blaster and wandered after Jyn, taking one of her hands between his two cuffed hands.

                She shivered at the touch; her nerve-endings still felt ravaged. But she turned to face him, the movement almost vicious as her confused senses buzzed with adrenaline. He paused, patient — or overly cautious — as ever. Jyn didn’t attempt to tone down the mixture of frustration and pent-up fury that still glowed in her eyes, but she decided to channel it elsewhere, grabbing his shoulders and stretching on tip-toes to kiss him hard. She couldn’t — wouldn’t — tell him what she’d felt when she thought he’d been buried in the ruined temple, nor how her heart had bucked in her chest when she’d realised he’d survived. But he might get some hint of it through the tightness of her fingers on his arms, or the desperate need in the pressure of her tongue.

                He squirmed in her grip, finally escaping for long enough to swing his arms over her head, pulling her close to him, the cuffs held carefully away from her shoulders. Maybe his kiss said something similar to hers; she didn’t like to presume. But he was warm and close, and the feeling of him against her aching body was better than she remembered the feeling of another person’s proximity could be. She didn’t let go until the sound of _Rogue One_ ’s engines went quiet and Baze let out a polite cough of enquiry, standing by and gesturing at Cassian’s cuffs.


	43. Chapter 43

The next day was spent discarding Karid’s samples, replacing them with those gathered from the barren side of the planet, and conducting the repairs that would get the ship through the asteroid field once more.

                Cassian retrieved a battered Jedi holocube from one of Roht’s pockets, even as the boy offered up the information that he had it; Chirrut politely took custody of it, but claimed he’d save trying to open it for his next encounter with Luke Skywalker. Rhinzi recovered consciousness slowly, with Karid’s sedative weighing down his frail body. He was offered every cup of caf going, and smothered under the weight of every spare blanket as the crew passed back and forth through the ship, frowning worriedly at his clammy face and slack, rubbery skin. This care gradually had the desired effect though, and Rhinzi maintained a sly, sparkling eye on their captives as the others worked.

                Chirrut’s experience of the temples had been that they’d responded to him as a Force-user, activating like a giant holocube themselves when they detected his enquiring presence. At first, the mechanisms the Jedi had left that would open the temple to future, returning generations, had recognised his presence, revealing to him the nurseries where the crystals had been nurtured. This was when the stairway had appeared below Jyn’s feet, and the walls of the temple had begun to funnel new paths. But when Roht’s second explosive had gone off at the heart of the building, the temple had responded to the threat by closing off access to the nurseries, temporarily locking Chirrut and the others in one of the rooms.

                The star’s unusual radiation had contributed to the growth of the crystals, but it had also been what had wiped out half of the planet’s life, driving the Jedi off-world as the interference from the star grew into vicious waves of heat and high winds. Chirrut was adamant that the planet should be left as the Jedi had intended, and even Nari accepted the fervour of his words.

                She went over and over Marnoi’s notes, looking for clues as to the age of the site; trying not to show the tight worry in her eyes now that it was clear that Karid had had a hand in whatever had kept Marnoi from joining them.

                Their three prisoners were a generally silent, sullen presence, cuffed to the flight chairs in the ship’s hold. Karid’s full role on Coruscant was still not clear to them, and Cassian dismissively told Karid that it didn’t matter to him what precisely he’d done; Rebel intelligence would discover his past, or not, and Karid wouldn’t be seeing the other side of a holding cell for the rest of his days regardless.

                Jorn was as silent as his uncle, his eyes resentful of everyone, not least when Baze stood over them with a clucking tut and a roll of his eyes, preparing to check Jorn’s bacta patch, and announcing that they should have restrained the three of them at the outset.

                Nari agreed with the rest of the crew that Ossus’ crystal colony should remain a secret, and that their report should only mention the planet’s devastated continents. She folded her arms and eyed the would-be crystal dealers though, leaning to whisper loudly to Jyn: “but they’ll tell intelligence, surely? What reason have they to lie?”

                “What reason does Rebel intelligence have to believe them over us?” Jyn shrugged. Roht was watching them openly; Jorn sat still, listening but pretending not to.

                “We do keep disobeying their orders,” Bodhi looked up from the greasy box of wires he was fiddling with.

                “I’ll support what you tell them,” Roht said, looking up at the crew members with wide, hopeful eyes. “I don’t think anyone should come back here.”

                Jyn let him take her tight smile as one of gratitude and she stalked out of the ship. She’d been feeling restless and trapped on the planet ever since the night before, when they’d cuffed the three men to the flight chairs on _Rogue One_. She thought she was desperate to leave Ossus, but her mind rebelled at the idea of travelling through the asteroid field again. And once out, they could return to the Rebellion, to the fleet; but Jyn thought of the long journey, of another stop for refuelling, of _Home One_ ’s stark white corridors and saltwater-smelling rooms — and she wanted to avoid all that as much as she wanted to get going. She wanted to find a quiet space, somewhere she’d map out every scar hidden under Cassian’s clothes, printing her possession with tight-gripping hands all over him. But if she learned the contours of him, if she got even a little bit lost in the way she’d make him look at her, how would she get through another fight if she thought he’d gone again?

                It had hurt when he’d disappeared in an ominously silent flash of blaster-fire in Scarif’s data stack, and she remembered the way her chest had ached with her heart’s hammering on Ithor when she hadn’t known if he was on board or not. Now, it was a cold, slick terror that overtook her when she recalled the possibility of his death the previous day. She’d not been afraid then; she’d wandered in a fog of uncertainty, pushing determinedly forward. But with hindsight, she was horrified: the long walk through the tunnel and the aching, slow swim across the lake, both achieved in a world where as far as she’d known, he’d been still, trapped under those rocks…

                Jyn wrapped her arms around herself and scowled into the dust that Ossus’ relentless wind whipped up from the shore they were now parked on. The barren continents of the planet’s other hemisphere were not any more toxic than its verdant half, but there was nothing to them except dust and gravel, all of it the colour of old bones.

                She’d known she’d made a mistake. She’d tried to explain that back on Oseon VII. She’d thought it had been a mistake he’d regret more than her, but the idea of forging an attachment that would break as messily, as cruelly, as those she’d had no choice over — her mother, Saw, her father — made bile rise in her throat. She’d told those naïve boys to choose their own families; at that moment Jyn wanted to choose none of it, no one, to surround herself in a vacuum, somewhere she could keep fighting from, but no one else could reach in, nothing could get to her.

                A burst of laughter carried on the ever-shifting breeze made her grimace deepen. Baze was throwing small stones into the arms of the wind, letting them be carried in Chirrut’s direction as the Guardian extended palms, and occasionally his staff, to bat them aside. He’d aim them back, their edges pinging against Baze’s armour, the sound swept away by the atmosphere even as it was born. If Chirrut hadn’t been completely blind, there’d have been nothing to indicate the presence of the Force; they were just two old friends messing about in the breeze.

                Jyn studied them. How could they have lost so much — the gradual, piecemeal fragmentation of their temple, their homes, their friends, their vocations; the wretched storm of dust and radiation that had ultimately engulfed Jedha — and still be willing to invest so much care in each other? In anyone?

                Chirrut caught a pebble in his hand and glanced over at her momentarily, that knowing laughter crinkling his kind eyes. Jyn tried to smile and turned quickly, moving away from the pair, into the shadow cast by the ship’s hull. She pulled a face when she saw the silhouetted figure on the ship’s wing, welding goggles glinting as sparks came off the metal he was knitting back together. For a moment Jyn watched him, picking out the groove of his frown of concentration even though the light on his face was haphazard and partial at this angle. He sat astride the top of the wing, the muscles in his thighs tight as he gripped the surface. Jyn bit her lip, shifting her gaze to his forearms, exposed below rolled-up shirtsleeves, grease-streaked and wiry.

                He paused in his work and raised his goggles to look down at her quizzically. Jyn didn’t change her expression; she knew she looked uncertain, pale and dusty as she peered up into the bright sky behind him. What was the point in trying to hide her sudden, revived impulse to withdraw? Oblivious, sweet Elysse had noticed when she’d grown like that in the lead-up to their last mission on Corulag; Cassian, who’d seemed to see straight through her from their first meeting on Yavin 4, wouldn’t be under any illusions.

                What was he going to say to her? She’d heard all the entreaties before: pleas for her to open up, share what was troubling her, they’d understand, they already understood, they _knew_ , they knew _her_. Then it turned angry: why couldn’t she share? Why wouldn’t she let them in? Didn’t she understand that they couldn’t stand to lose her either? But she could never make herself believe it. The experience of others always seemed too distant, too alien, especially at that crucial moment. Didn’t she know she was being selfish? Why yes, she did. That was how she’d survived this long.

                He just studied her for a moment; she thought his expression was soft, yielding in the way that it so often wasn’t. “Is Bodhi nearly done with the console repairs?” he eventually asked.

                She nodded. “Just a couple more switches to check, but he’s got a pretty good sense of what works and what doesn’t now.”

                He smiled minutely and returned his gaze to the durasteel below him, testing the seam he’d just made with pressure from his thumbs. He didn’t look up again, but Jyn knew he was aware that she still stood there. Eventually, she took a step back, wondering when the inevitable had been deferred until.

                Jyn returned to the ship to help Nari secure the samples they’d replaced the original set with. As she checked the lids on each vial, Nari prattled in her usual way, chatting amicably about how she imagined Marnoi was doing in an Alliance med bay; how busy they must be, and how much busier they’d be when _Rogue One_ returned. She cast a glance at Jyn’s shoulder, which had long-ceased to consciously annoy Jyn, though everyone around her noticed her itch grimly at the burn now and then. After barely a breath, Nari continued on to hope that Jorn and Roht recognised they had a future to fight for, and if they gave a good showing of themselves, the famed Rebellion ought to treat them fairly … she directed her stream of words at Jyn, but in a loud voice, ostentatiously thrown in the direction of the twins.

                Somewhere under the barrage of Nari’s concern for all and sundry, Jyn’s mind drifted. As it did, reassurances entered her thoughts from a different source; she reminded herself of the patient, self-contained way he waited, of the way he’d retreated into himself on the asteroid, letting the hurt of others wash over him and not once complaining to the rest of the crew. And, of course, he’d come back, somehow, every time he’d needed to. Hope mingled with the smallest flicker of guilt for having expected a response she’d grown accustomed to from others to come from him. Despite the familiarity of experience she knew underlay her ease around him, he’d always managed to catch her by surprise.

 _Rebellions are built on hope_. She’d initially supposed he’d tried to make it sound ironic, like he was joking back at her incredulous tone, but something about the way he’d leaned in, the focus of his gaze, then the later outburst after Eadu … it had stuck in her like a barb, working its way deeper, until she could feel the warmth of it spread.

                “Hm, already there, mentally …”

                Jyn blinked up from the case of vials she was securing. Nari was looking at her with that dangerous smile, clearly disappointed that Jyn had missed her say something designed to irk her.

                She waited for a moment, but didn’t bite. Just as she was turning back to clip the case shut, Nari repeated herself.

                “Looking forward to some r and r when this is over?”

                Jyn gave her a blank look, finally deciding to play back.

                “Rest? Recuperation? Finally some alone time?"

                “I don’t follow,” Jyn shrugged. “I don’t need the downtime; but the Rebellion does need people doing things. What would I be resting for?”

                Nari rolled her eyes, but grinned, glad of the sparring partner. Then she opened her mouth as if about to continue, but paused and looked at Jyn with the closest thing to hesitation that she knew.

                Jyn had come to recognise the look; Nari wanted to say something about Lyra or Galen, but, trying to respect her wishes, she held back, waiting for permission — or at least the absence of flat-out denial. This time Jyn relented, gesturing minutely for her to continue.

                “You don’t remember Alpinn, do you?”

                Jyn shrugged.

                Looking almost pleased that she got to remind Jyn of this experience, Nari grinned again, readjusting herself from her crouch to sit heavily on the deck. She pulled her own case of vials between her sprawled legs and checked over the bottles, composing the beginning of her tale. “We went to Alpinn together; you, me, Lyra and Has. He was meant to be our minder I think, Krennic’s man, but by the end of the stay we’d won him round to our way of seeing things. It’s a planet the Empire thought might have kyber crystals on it, and Krennic evidently wanted to get your mother out of his hair for a few months.”

                Jyn narrowed her eyes and settled across from Nari. Her mother’s longstanding suspicions of Krennic’s motives, and her clear-sighted, quick actions that had got the three of them off Coruscant, into temporary safety, had both been explained to her already. It went some way towards explaining the firmness of her mother’s grip on her blaster back on Lah’mu; it made the resolution with which she’d left Jyn, alone but for her kyber crystal necklace, something that Jyn imagined she might one day come to understand.

                “Go on …” she told Nari.

                “Well, there’s not much to say. We explored the caves and found only kyberite. Which was good for Alpinn; meant the Empire never mined there. It’s an incredible place; searing white desert and miles and miles of intricate cave systems. And you had a great time in both, as I recall. And Lyra was always at her best when working. It was good to be with her, out in the field again, after all that time she spent in an office, typing up your father’s notes.” Nari fiddled with the clasp of the case of vials she had and smiled at the deck in an approximation of apology. “Not that she didn’t also enjoy that. But the Lyra I knew was most at home out in the wilds somewhere.”

                Jyn glanced up; Cassian had just walked up the ship’s ramp and heard the last of Nari’s words. He’d paused, looking strangely at Jyn.

                Nari followed her eyes and gave a quiet snort as Cassian moved away into the ship, calling after Bodhi.

                “And it was when she was in her element, absorbed in her work, that Galen first met her.”

                Despite her annoyance at Nari, at herself, at Cassian and whatever he’d been looking at, Jyn couldn’t stop the flush of heat in her neck and face. She stood, holding out a hand for Nari’s case. The older woman made a rueful expression, handing it up to Jyn but remaining seated on the deck.

                “Sorry, can’t help myself,” she conceded. “It’s been good to see you relax a bit over the mission. I’m just proud of you, Jyn. Not that I’ve any right to be …”

                Jyn ground a smile out and rearranged the cases to hold an open palm out to Nari. “Thanks. It’s good to hear about them. Really. But I’m still trying to figure out what to do with that information.”

                Nari took her hand and allowed herself to be hauled to her feet. “Don’t suppose the Rebellion will have any use for an old reluctant like me?”

                Jyn grinned; she was a little surprised at how easily and naturally it came. “I hear they’ll take anyone these days …”

…

She helped secure Rhinzi in the cockpit, and this time no one made an objection when she remained standing behind the pilots’ chairs, hands gripping the ceiling holds. Jyn didn’t try and keep her eyes on the surface of Ossus for any longer than necessary: she focussed up, ahead, studying the blur where the planet’s pearly atmosphere smudged familiarly against the inky backdrop of space. The ship smoothed its way through the join with less protest than it had on its entry to the atmosphere. They were still short one cannon, but the hull was holding, the shields had been repaired, and enough of the controls worked to get them through the asteroid field a second time.

                Her knuckles whitened and her lips pursed in an anxious scowl, but Baze and Chirrut’s voices crackled back and forth over the comms, and Bodhi and Rhinzi’s calm announcements punctuated Cassian’s tense, precise movements, and Jyn found comfort in watching the proceedings. As they entered the nebula once more, she also claimed a role for herself, activating the remaining cannons from the controls above Cassian’s head, and eyeing any hunk of space rock that drifted across their path, ready to fire. She kept half her attention on Bodhi’s sluggish right arm too, poised to leap across and press anything he couldn’t reach — but there was never a need for her there.

                Compared to their journey to Ossus, the return seemed to speed by. Able to associate every angry shudder of the ship’s hull, ever crackle of the shield or ping of a temperature change on durasteel with what she could see happening outside the viewport and on the controls in front of her, Jyn relaxed into the task of getting back to Oseon.

                The Oseon system was as they had left it a few days earlier: the same streams of mining transports flowed as they always had, and Oseon VII lay at the centre of the same swirl of orbital stations. Bodhi and Cassian’s hands raced across the controls as Bodhi leaned his ear into the comms headset, pinning it against his shoulder.

                “Any sign of Imperial frequencies?”

                “None. No — no. We’re clear.”

                “I’ll open a channel to Raddus.”

                Bodhi brought the ship in a cautious, sidling arc around the system’s planets, the frown on his face deepening as they received no response from Rebel channels either.

                “They’re expecting us, right?” Bodhi looked up at Jyn and then across at Cassian.

                Cassian shrugged, his own expression pinched and worried. “One of the relays could be out. And we’ve no idea where the fleet is.” He moved to scroll through the navicomp and cursed when he remembered the screen was out. “We need to get to one of the rendezvous points. I’ve got contacts who’ll be able to get us in touch with the fleet.”

                Jyn was already halfway up the ladder in search of a datapad. She returned momentarily, scowling at the screen.

                “We’re so far away from everywhere,” she grumbled, handing it over to him and watching the screen over his shoulder.

                “You’re not wrong there,” Bodhi agreed. “Rhinzi, what direction’s best to plot a course in from here?”

                Rhinzi swayed in his restraints, sucking on his teeth as he considered the stars beyond the viewport. “What’s between here and Terminus? It was an elegant course we took to get here; efficient, and more direct than many others would be.”

                Cassian half-turned, with a sceptical raise of his brows. “Nothing much.”

                “Well what about Terminus?” Jyn interjected, swiping at the screen over Cassian’s shoulder to follow their proposed path. It was away from the major hyperspace lanes, kept them clear of Hutt Space and Imperial territory, and they already knew that their destination would be discreet, yet a good place to find information.

                “It’s not one of the Rebellion’s outposts,” Cassian said.

                “But we could buy information there, right?” Bodhi appealed to them both again.

                “With what?” Cassian objected.

                “If we can’t buy information we can still gather it. Not to mention creds.” Jyn said decisively. “I think it’s our best option.”

                There were no other suggestions, so Bodhi and Rhinzi agreed on the figures, and they were on their way to Terminus once more, further retracing the steps of their previous journey. From orbit they debated over the best approach, when an alert from the comms interrupted them.

                “R … uh,” Bodhi looked at Cassian wildly. “Shuttle _Nebula_ here …”

                “Right. Hi shuttle ‘ _Nebula_ ’,” a sardonic voice replied. “The Terminus Data Handling Corporation sends you its best greetings. On your recent visit here, you were involved in events that have been extremely beneficial to us; a new ally wants you to know that our services are now available to you free of charge.”

                Jyn and Cassian exchanged looks full of reservation; Cassian swiped Bodhi’s hand from the reply switch. “No. No way. It’s too convenient.”

                “Yes, it’s convenient!” Bodhi returned. “A lot more convenient than wandering around the surface for days whilst you two get into fights and we rack up docking fees we can’t pay!”

                “It’s Elysse. I don’t know how, or what she’s up to, but it’s something to do with her,” Jyn snarled, ignoring Bodhi.

                Cassian studied her anxiously and nodded.

                “What did you _do_ last time we were here?”

                Jyn shrugged awkwardly at Bodhi and glanced at Cassian. “Nothing! The place is crawling with petty data lords and traders; we just left one less.”

                Bodhi rolled his eyes and gestured _of course_ with his left palm raised to the ship’s ceiling. “So do we think this is his big brother looking for revenge? Or is there a chance that you eliminated their rival, and they’re genuinely offering us help?”

                “Ask them what assurances they can give,” Cassian finally said after a moment’s silent contemplation of Jyn’s pale, angry expression.

                Bodhi did so.

                The comms crackled for a moment, and then a list of co-ordinates was read out in a mechanical voice. Jyn looked at the others for an answer; Cassian was the first to give it.

                “It’s the co-ordinates for Yavin,” he frowned. “And now Alderaan.”

                He reached over and activated the comms. “Is this a threat?”

                “No threat, _Captain_ — I take it. Just assuring you that we know who we’re dealing with. We’re fans of your work.”

                “What do you want in return?” Jyn leaned over Cassian and Bodhi to speak.

                “Nothing, ‘Liana Hallik.’ Like we said, your previous actions … opened a space in the market for us. We want to show our appreciation.”

                “What does _Elysse_ want then?”

                For the first time the smug, pithy reply was deferred. After a moment’s silence, the voice replied, “our employee is on a period of leave. She wants you to be well recompensed for your mercy.”

                Jyn rolled her eyes, but she could see that Cassian had been convinced.

                “Terminus Data Handling Corporation, please send all information on Rebel fleet movements from the last standard week.”

                “That is a very small request, Captain; anyone in the galaxy could tell you about the battle above Ithor.”

                Cassian swore again, but didn’t miss a beat. “And a full tank of fuel in our ship.”

                “That is not data,” the voice replied flatly.

                “Then the data that will allow us to buy a full tank of fuel here …”

                “Very well,” the voice accepted. “Transferring now. It’s been good to do business with you, shuttle ‘ _Nebula_ ’. We hope to see you at Terminus again one day.”


	44. Chapter 44

Proximity indicators howled as they were spat from hyperspace into the chaos above Ithor. Cassian shouted at their passengers to hold tight as he and Bodhi swung the shuttle to avoid the tumbling debris of TIE fighters.

                “Hostiles!” Bodhi yelped as a squadron sped towards them.

                Cassian’s fingers were already hooked in the firing controls, and although he was surprised that the TIEs didn’t fire on them, his own shot hit one as the group swung across their field of vision, haring away to starboard.

                “Hello, fellow Rogues!” a cheerful voice hailed them, and Cassian saw a group of X wings following the path the TIEs had taken.

                “Janson!” Bodhi laughed, his cheeks colouring a little.

                “Cut the chatter, Rogue Three, we’ve got mopping up to do — _Rogue One_ , glad to see you’ve finally joined the party,” Luke Skywalker’s voice was firm but Cassian could practically hear the friendly blue twinkle in his eyes.

                “Sorry we’re so late to it, Rogue Leader,” Cassian grinned. “What’s the situation?”

                “You’ve missed the fireworks,” Luke replied. “We’re just tracking down the leftovers; there might be more work on the surface though, the planet’s forests are on fire in areas, plus they’ve got a lot of captured ground troops to contain.”

                “We’ll check it out, thanks Rogue Leader. See you on the surface later?”

                “No doubt we will, Bodhi,” Luke’s voice smiled back.

                They flew through the remnants of battle, and despite the hard knot of fear in Cassian’s chest, most of the drifting scrap was from Imperial vessels. Two Mon Cal cruisers, one of which was _Home One_ , hovered protectively above Ithor’s blue marbled surface.

                A comms officer onboard _Home One_ directed them to take their injured prisoners to a site at what had been Ithor’s main marketplace, so Cassian and Bodhi brought the ship into a hangar that was even more chaotic than Cassian remembered it being in the middle of a blaster shoot out. In memory of his last journey through the hanger, he probed his ribs with questing fingers and got barely a twinge in response through the bacta patch that had sped the healing process on.

                Rebel troops scurried between the slow, purposeful strides of Ithorians, ferrying medical supplies, captured weapons and other equipment about. The cool, high air was made heavy with the underlying scent of smoke and wet wood burning. It masked the usual scents of war as they marched Karid, Jorn and Roht through Ithor’s main streets. Cassian and Baze held Jorn upright with firm hands; his wound wouldn’t heal without proper bacta treatment, but the ship’s supplies — and his uncle’s sedatives — had been enough to keep him calm and comfortable through the journey. Chirrut walked behind the cuffed, swollen-faced Karid, who only tried to escape from the blind guardian once, and received a sharp jab from Chirrut’s staff for his troubles. Jyn strode ahead, one hand tense between Roht’s shoulders as she pushed him onwards.

                Cassian saw her scan the activity going on around them, scowling with disapproval at some recruit’s cavalier attitude towards crating up confiscated weaponry, and eyeing the Rebellion’s temporary constructions in the market place with a suspicious eye.

                They explained who their captives were to the Twi’lek officer at the medical tent and wound their way through crates and cots to the ‘secure’ section. Jorn was laid easily down and cuffed to his cot as medical droids began to swarm, and Karid stiffly took to another cot, Chirrut’s staff guiding his hands and feet to the restraints with insistent taps and jabs on his wrists and ankles.

                Bodhi had remained loitering with the ship, probably hoping to encounter Rogue Squadron when they came in, and now Rhinzi claimed he’d rather not join Jyn as she escorted Roht to whatever passed for confinement in the haphazard aftermath of battle. He traipsed off with Nari and Marnoi’s R5 unit, ostensibly in search of a recruitment officer, or somewhere they could otherwise be of use. Cassian mulled over the fact that he could help them find someone like that far more quickly than they’d identify one themselves, but a thread kept him trailing after Jyn and her captive, even as Chirrut and Baze also drifted away from them in the direction of the sacred gardens.

                The few captive Imperials were a group of sullen, dirt-spattered stormtroopers, their helmets removed and piled up like skulls against one of the Ithorian tree-woven buildings. “You can’t leave me with them,” Roht protested, pausing in alarm between the troopers and the sooty Rebels who kept watch over them.

                “Where else should I leave you?” Jyn asked.

                “Why couldn’t I stay with my brother?”

                “You’d only clutter up the med bay. He’ll be better off with the droids looking after him. You’ve just got to sit here until they bring a transport; after that I’m sure you’ll get a fair trial in no time,” she looked at Cassian with a smirk. “The Rebellion’s notoriously efficient like that.”

                “But I didn’t do anything,” Roht said, eyeing the floor miserably. “I’m not like _them_.”

                Cassian felt something unfamiliar, pity maybe, move him when he saw the captured troopers look up at Roht with curiosity and contempt. He exchanged a look with Jyn, who smiled minutely again.

                She surveyed the Rebel guards. “Anywhere else we can leave him?”

                “What he do?”

                “Conspiracy to mutiny,” she said with a side-long glare at Roht, who looked even more shocked to hear his actions described in that way.

                The Rebel made a derisive sound. “Get him to help with the clean-up; they’re pumping water from the planet’s reservoir to the forest fire. You can catch a transport there from the city’s docks.”

                Jyn and Cassian escorted the boy to the other end of the floating city from the spaceport. Atmospheric transports lined up along the city’s tapered edge, and they squeezed into an overcrowded barge with a number of other harassed looking Rebels and their stacks of equipment. Cassian smiled bemusedly down at the top of Jyn’s head as she sidled close to him, her hand still closed on Roht’s cuffs.

                The breeze of Ithor’s upper atmosphere teased though his hair as the barge started moving, but soon the fresh, damp air gave way to a stinging, cloying smoke. Sparks swirled in the heat and faded around the barge as they descended towards ground level.

                By one of the planet’s shores, groups of Rebels and robed Ithorians were gathered, installing and operating pumps and hoses that trailed into the forest. Off the barge, Jyn found a beaming, enthusiastic young Rebel to hand Roht over to, establishing first that the other woman had a blaster at her waist and knew what to do with it.

                She and Cassian found work on the shore easily, without conferring or waiting for someone to direct them. He took a hydrospanner from a box and set upon a newly unloaded pump; Jyn saw some indecision at another installation and strode over, pointing out to the mixed group of Rebels and Ithorians what they could all be doing instead of arguing amongst themselves. Cassian smiled as he worked, listening to Jyn’s voice drift over to him. She buzzed about the lakeshore, unselfconscious in her direction of others, the fear of inaction forgotten as she sank her teeth into the immediate problems before her.

                He lost track of the time through the afternoon, doggedly following Jyn from the lakeshore to the depths of the forest, both of them growing grimy with soot and soil and sweat, hauling pipes and parts to where they were needed as a whole village of bustle continued around them, and starfighters streaked overhead, dropping cargoes of seawater on the smoking trees.

                By the time the Ithorian scouts confirmed that the fires were no longer burning, the planet’s sky had cooled to mauve. Cassian and Jyn sat on the deck of a returning barge alongside others who’d been working down at the lake. His arm was thrown out across her shoulders, and she leaned her head comfortably on him, no doubt as tired and aware of her aching muscles as he was. Roht had worked under the close scrutiny of others all day, and though he flagged early, he’d claimed to want to keep helping, and had earned himself lenient treatment by the Rebels taking him to a secure transport.

                Now, Cassian imagined leaving the barge in the deepening night, finding Bodhi, Baze and Chirrut in the bar of the spaceport hostel, laughing as Bodhi invited Janson and the other Rogues over, watching Chirrut sidling slyly over to Luke and beginning to explain what they’d encountered to him. A night’s peace on planet, in the ship’s dark hold, and then … back to the fleet.

                As they made their way towards the spaceport, though, Cassian saw a familiar silhouette emerge from Ithor’s thickening night mists. He felt Jyn tense beside him, extracting herself from the easy way she’d twined close to him as they walked.

                “General,” he greeted his former commander.

                “Captain. Sergeant Erso. I’d heard _Rogue One_ had arrived on planet earlier. I’m glad to have found you.” Draven affected a relaxed attitude, but Cassian doubted that his meeting them as they returned from the barge was accidental.

                “We’re looking forward to your crew’s briefing on the Ossus mission. The Admirals and I will be on planet for another cycle, at least. We’re hoping to get your briefings tomorrow; rooms have been held at the spaceport hostel for all your crew. I’ll send an ensign round in the morning to get each of you.”

                Draven looked at them both sharply, then nodded and stepped past Cassian before he could respond. His straight-backed, clipped walk had faded into Ithor’s night even before Cassian’s exhausted mind could fully appreciate the information it had just been given; Jyn was a little quicker though, and stood a pace or two ahead of him, her eyes wide, sparkling in the gloom as she waited.

                As he’d anticipated, they proceeded to the spaceport bar, where the crowds overflowed its threshold, moving wordlessly past Ithorians and Rebels of numerous species, in numerous uniforms, holding numerous vessels full of drink.

                Baze’s roar of greeting guided them to a circular table, where he and Chirrut sat with Bodhi, Rhinzi, Nari and a few Rogues. Cassian had never thought he’d let himself be glad to see any particular fighter pilots return from battle again, but Janson’s grin as he leapt to his feet and clapped Cassian on the shoulder was infectious. He let the Rogues relay a message to the bar on his and Jyn’s behalf, and soon — via Wedge, Shara, a stooped Duros with a wide smile, and Janson’s own hand — his beer was in front of him, and he was settled on the couch between Bodhi and Janson, both of whom talked over him enthusiastically about the technicalities of flying an unwieldy cargo shuttle through Oseon’s asteroid field.

                Across the table from him, smiling quietly over her own bottle, Jyn was pinned similarly between Nari’s enthusiastic description of something, and Baze’s beer-fuelled eloquence regarding the crew.

                He tried to supplement Bodhi’s descriptions of the journey, and to confirm or deny things as Janson demanded answers, but his eyes were constantly dragged back to Jyn. She looked pale and tired, but smiled obediently at Nari’s stories, and laughed and shouldered Baze at the end of particularly raucous anecdotes. After Janson slipped from the booth to find himself and Bodhi more beer, Cassian confirmed that Jyn’s bottle was still as full as his; she’d barely had a sip or two of it. She caught his look and stood quickly, her smile tight as she apologised to Nari and escaped from the booth, proclaiming tiredness.

                Cassian watched her, wide-eyed, as she stepped into the crowd. She stopped and looked back at him, and he also stood, quickly enough to bruise his thighs against the close table top. Bodhi looked up at him in surprise, but Cassian muttered his excuse and sidled out, following Jyn as she wound her way through the crowd. He didn’t see the people around him, his eyes fixed only the elegant, tense line of her neck and shoulder: the softness of it against the hard lines of muscles that he knew spoke of a clenched fist at the end of her slightly raised shoulder; the way loose strands of her hair teased at her skin and caught on the rough material of her jacket’s collar.

                It seemed to take an age to reach the turbolift, where he found her waiting with the codes to a room on the building’s uppermost floor. She looked up at him, need and uncertainty mingled in her wide eyes as he stepped closer to her. They’d barely spoken a word since Ossus, except in the context of flying the ship and planning their return to the fleet; he’d seen the mortified terror she wore as the aftermath of her fearless approach to Karid and the twins grew on her. It reminded him of the blankness that had swept over her on Jedha, that had left her floundering in the sudden remembrance of all that the universe had already taken away from her. Cassian hadn’t known what to do but wait, dreading himself that at any moment she’d slam the door shut again, running away from what might be, protecting herself from what had to be inevitable.

                The turbolift doors opened, and without taking her eyes off him, she wrapped her fists in the material of his shirt, just above his hips, and stepped back, drawing him with her as she wiped the doubt from her face. Cassian bent towards her and her hands moved up the sides of his body, and like a cloudburst, or the first breath after a long session in bacta, his tiredness left him and something that had been knotted down tight within him was freed.

                Jyn’s hands were in his hair, inching under the waist of his shirt, gripping through fabric and smoothing over skin; she tasted of smoke and the sweet, floral beer, and the skin of her face and neck was cool and soft under his touch, though her body against his radiated heat through her own layers of clothing. Cassian wanted to erase any distance that had ever been between them. He wanted to forget where he ended and she began, to escape this galaxy and find a new one, renew himself in it, in the place behind her ear where her hairline met the curve of bone, or the soft ‘v’ at the base of her neck, or all the unexplored places of her.

                They stumbled from the lift blindly, lips and hands unwilling to part for long. Neither had the opportunity to laugh self-consciously at their haphazard waltz across the corridor, feet and knees knocking against each other until Cassian found himself pinned in a doorway, and Jyn stepped back for a moment to see the keypad behind him. The door had barely lifted far enough before they were engulfed into the room, and the door shut immediately behind them.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a gap here, because I didn't think it was fair to change the rating of so much fic for just one chapter. But who knows, if anyone's read this far and feels cheated, I might write a supplement...

If he’d expected a better night’s sleep, tired after the day’s work, between missions, entwined under clean sheets with his skin hot against Jyn’s, he was soon disappointed. Cassian’s dreams were a memory reel of desperate flight; the choking air of Jedha and the oppressive rain of Eadu; the harsh white light of Scarif’s datastack again and again. Until he ended up shivering painfully in the soft, fine sand, Jyn’s arms around him and a brightness and heat growing as everything within him cried out in objection: _not like this. Not yet. I’m not ready. Nowhere near. And I only just realised_.

                He lay awake in the feeble grey light of Ithor’s early morning, letting his fingers trail softly over the white punctuation of scars on Jyn’s skin, reassuring himself that she was warm, and very much alive; that the foggy colour of the air was only playing tricks on him as it smothered the pink tones in her lips and cheeks.

                As when she’d crept into his bunk on Ossus, she lay claim to the majority of the space, but now, as she slept, the hard edges she’d pushed him against the wall with were barely visible.

                Her arms sprawled, one thrown back, her hand lost somewhere beneath the chestnut brown tangle of her hair. She’d never taken the tie out of it; he could just about see it, clinging to strands, part-submerged by her collarbone. Her other hand disappeared below the folds of the sheet, resting on her hip, and the only thing she wore other than the hair tie was the ever-present crystal necklace, lying against the smooth line of her breastbone, its light somehow warmer than the pale sky outside the room’s viewport.

                Across one side of her ribs and belly were the dots and ridges of shrapnel scars that had never properly been healed with bacta: a starburst that interrupted her contours. Running his fingertips over the miniature landscape, Cassian found that he didn’t mind that his dreams had jolted him from sleep after all; and though this peace and the utter silence of the room had echoes in his memory — the lift on Scarif; flying back from a rare successful mission where Kaytu had neither complaints nor statistics to badger him with; other occasions so dim with memory that the illusion of peacefulness had settled on them — nothing felt quite comparable.

                As the cold light slowly rounded itself out with the warm end of the spectrum, and Ithor’s morning sun began to scorch through the lingering low cloud outside, Jyn’s skin seemed to bloom with revived colour. Cassian watched the transformation with a perfectly untroubled, empty mind, noting only when she stirred in the room’s new brightness that his pulse quickened with anticipation as she woke.

                He didn’t have time to worry about her reaction; by the time it had occurred to him to do so a lazy, mischievous smile crept across her lips. She rolled to face him, her head now propped up on an arm as those sharp green eyes studied what he expected was his own starstruck expression.

                Cassian reached his hand out and gently plucked the hair tie from the mess of strands falling down over her shoulder, offering it back to her on the hooked ends of his fingers. She grinned and covered his hand with her own, pressing it to the mattress between them as she leaned forward to kiss him. He let out a throaty chuckle as they tussled for dominance over the narrow bed, settling without much resistance onto his back as Jyn gripped his hips, her knees on either side of him.

                The strange warmth of the crystal on her necklace trailed along his chest as she leant forwards to kiss him again, enveloping their faces in her falling hair. It was the first time that Cassian had been happy to forget about an upcoming briefing in some time, and it couldn’t last long. Though they wilfully ignored the sound of their comms in clothes pockets scattered across the floor, eventually an insistent knocking on the door caught up with them.

                The ensign’s demands for ‘Captain Andor’ were met with the sour expression of Jyn Erso, wearing Captain Andor’s shirt and loosely holding a holster and blaster she’d plucked from the floor, adjusting the straps on the former pointedly as the ensign in the doorway stammered that General Draven and the Admirals were waiting for the crew in the Temple buildings. With a curt ‘thank you’, she palmed the door shut and turned to offer Cassian a rueful shrug.

Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from the sheets and headed for the ‘fresher, noting Jyn’s eyes following his every step. When they’d both used the sonic and retrieved their clothes, the hair tie she’d worn seemed to have made its escape permanent. With an annoyed scrunch of her nose, she gave up her search for it and followed him out of the room, walking close enough to him that their arms brushed, like they were slinking through the crowds of NiJedha again, only the corridor here was empty but for the two of them.

                The temple gardens were little changed, despite the space battle that had raged above the planet; all in the gardens was quiet and calm, the gravel paths and burbling water features leading inexorably up towards the decking of the temple, where Bodhi, Baze and Chirrut sat across a table from Draven, Raddus, Ackbar, Cracken and Mon Mothma herself.

                Draven’s expression wasn’t quite under control; Cassian saw his eyebrows flicker upwards and his lips twitch; at this, both of the Mon Cals’ mouths dropped open with amusement, and Mon Mothma turned to hide a smile.

                Cassian glanced at Jyn as they approached the two empty chairs; her chin was tilted defiantly upwards, and she met Draven’s expression with a serene, unreadable one of her own. “Let’s get this briefing started then, shall we?” she said, relaxing into the chair. Cassian had to look down and bite the inside of his lip to hide his smile; Bodhi and Baze didn’t even attempt to hide their laughter.

                “Actually, we’re still waiting for one last person,” Draven told her.

                Jyn shrugged, but glanced behind her with an expression of surprised interest. Cassian followed her gaze to see another slight figure making their way through the gardens; the light, controlled step and the regal bearing belied the practical clothing. Leia took her place beside Mon Mothma with a murmured greeting, and a more pronounced smile for the rest of the table.

                As a rule, Cassian had never liked group briefings. People talked over each other, accounts were contradicted, and the person conducting the briefing ended up having to repeat questions and cycle over issues again and again. In the weeks they’d known each other, the crew of _Rogue One_ had grown accustomed to the patterns of one another’s silences and speech, though. Contradictions were few and trivial, and were swiftly ironed out; Elysse disappeared from their account of Terminus, as the kyber crystals disappeared from their description of Ossus.

                “Really? It’s just a barren wasteland now?” Leia’s disappointment elicited a momentary flash of guilt from Cassian, but he felt certain that Chirrut would find a way of conveying their real findings to Leia anyway. He wondered at how quickly he’d grown comfortable keeping information from Draven and Cracken, when for years of his life he’d been conditioned to hold some part of himself back from everyone but these two officers, with whom he was expected to share everything.

                The kyber crystals on Ossus wouldn’t _have_ to become weapons, but the Jedi who had cultivated them for their own uses were no more, and the more people in the Rebellion who knew about them, the more easy it would be for the Empire to discover this source as well.

                When the conversation turned to Karid, Cracken became more animated. He produced a holopad and displayed an image of a much younger-looking Doctor Karid Soril, chief bioweapons engineer for the Imperial Secret Service. The small amount of intelligence they had on him had assumed his death several years ago, when, after one too many improvised experiments, Karid had been deemed a liability and ejected from the development labs. If the crew of _Rogue One_ anticipated that Karid might be persuaded to describe Ossus in more detail than they’d provided, then they were happy to play up his spaced-out, wild-eyed unreliability.

                At the end of the briefing, discussion turned inevitably to future missions. Bodhi was offered combat training in an X wing, something that he claimed vehemently not to be worthy of, until Mon Mothma told him that Luke Skywalker had recommended him directly, having heard what he’d achieved with the battered old shuttle they’d taken to Ossus and back. He only accepted, grudgingly, when assured that the training wouldn’t interfere with any flying he undertook with _Rogue One_.

                The rest of them were presented with the possibility of recruiting and training a new unit of Pathfinders.

                “But should you feel that your previous experiences have already demanded enough of you — in the name of the Alliance, or in your own rebellions — you must say.” Mon Mothma’s eyes were kind; genuine; worried. She didn’t want to force anyone to do anything they were unhappy doing; Mon Mothma didn’t want to think about the compromises people made with themselves in the name of the Alliance.

                “If you don’t feel you can support the tactics required by the Pathfinders now, I can offer diplomatic posts on planets we’re hoping will join us under more peaceful circumstances than Ithor has …”

                Cassian saw the clench of Draven’s jaw; Cracken’s minute eye-roll; Leia’s demure smile directed at her hands, folded in her lap; the Mon Cals’ responses were too subtle for him to pick up on, but he was sure they were there. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Jyn and the others. Baze’s eyes were soft with amusement, and Chirrut wore his most dangerous grin. Bodhi sat on the edge of his chair, his knee shaking with anticipation, whilst Jyn smiled simply at him before turning to Mon Mothma.

                Being a politician, Mon knew not to show it even when she realised she’d lost an argument, but she composed her expression carefully so as to hide her worry when Jyn replied on behalf of all of them that training new Pathfinders sounded preferable. It wouldn’t be straightforward, but Cassian found that he’d rather know that the new spies, saboteurs and assassins of the Rebellion were informed of what they were getting in to, and offered the right kind of support — whatever that might be — between missions.

                With the close of the meeting, Chirrut and Baze lingered to try and catch Leia’s attention, and Draven and Cracken took positions at each of Cassian’s sides, leaving Jyn and Bodhi to wander into the gardens, some light disagreement causing their voices to rise in laughing protest.

                “Good work with the Alderaanians, Captain,” Cracken began. “Lots of good people there.”

                “It was Nari Sable who got them off Coruscant,” he said evasively, studying the dirty gravel of the path as their three pairs of boots scuffed through it.

                Draven and Cracken both chuckled, and Cassian looked up at them in surprise.

                Cracken gazed up at Ithor’s sky as Draven smirked at his superior. “Yes, she did. She did indeed.” Nari had evidently already made an impression on them both.

                “But you even managed to convince her to join us, when I understand she was initially most reluctant to.”

                “That wasn’t down to me,” Cassian snorted. “That was Jyn.”

                Draven let out a bark of amusement. “Erso’s been recruiting for us?”

                Cassian considered the ground again, a frown of displeasure passing over his features. “You’ve not seen her in the field, sir,” he said quietly. “I can’t imagine a single soldier who wouldn’t follow her.”

                “Well, you’ll be the ideal officers for the new Pathfinders, then,” Cracken said happily. “Glad to have you back under our command, Captain,” Cracken stopped to shake Cassian’s hand. When Draven gestured for him to go on, Cracken strode off, and Cassian found himself growing annoyed under Draven’s continued scrutiny.

                “Sir?” he finally looked up, crossing his arms in the face of Draven’s frown.

                “Don’t ‘sir’ me, Cassian. Mon — Chancellor Mothma’s too soft-hearted, but she made me see that …” Draven steeled himself. “I might have made some mistakes; there might have been things I didn’t notice, or think through. But I’m trying to make up for that now.”

                “You think I should take the diplomatic position?” Cassian allowed a smirk to soften his features.

                Draven rolled his eyes. “You’ve never disobeyed orders under me; not until this whole … until Operation Fracture. I’m trying to understand it.”

                Cassian studied him, the mirth leaving his eyes as he did. “You agreed with all my decisions during Operation Fracture.”

                “ _Most_ ,” Draven corrected him. “The outcome was better than we could ever have expected, and I don’t deny that quick decision-making, particularly the choice to go to Scarif, was significant.”

                “That was Jyn’s decision too,” Cassian reminded him. He was starting to get an idea of where Draven’s objections were coming from; no authority figure likes to find themselves replaced, after all.

                “You’re the commanding officer on that ship. Was it your decision to leave _Home One_? To take a prisoner from confinement?”

                “We had Admiral Raddus’ implicit support …”

                “Not for taking that old man out of his cell you didn’t.”

                “That wasn’t my decision.”

                “Why wasn’t it your decision?”

                Cassian’s mouth pinched angrily. “Because, sir, I am not a native of Jedha. I didn’t witness the destruction of my home planet only a few weeks ago, to be told that native survivors are now being hunted down and exterminated by the Empire. Because as a crew we trust each other’s decisions,” he guiltily repressed the memory of his initial doubt about Rhinzi. “Because that old man was a threat to no one, and a great asset to our mission.”

                Draven nodded minutely. It evidently hadn’t been the answer he’d been expecting, and Cassian could see him recalculating and re-evaluating.

                “Try to understand me, Cassian: from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like, after Scarif, you’re looking for some sort of … redress. To undo or make up for the work you’ve done for me before. Maybe it’s guilt about what happened to Galen Erso —“ Draven stopped as Cassian visibly prickled.

                “Let me explain something, sir,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have to explain it, but if this crew is going to be under command of intelligence again, I’d better do so now. My guilt about what happened to Galen Erso is my own. Scarif meant something, and yes, it’s not easy knowing what comes next, or whether another mission will ever be that _certain_. Or when, even after the Death Star, anything will ever be enough. But I don’t need to say any of this to Jyn. She’s lived the same life I have, in so many ways. And, unless the Alliance has introduced new rules against fraternising — which I warn you would be likely to affect both morale and recruitment — your concern about how I spend my time with Jyn Erso, not least between missions, is irrelevant.”

                Draven didn’t deny that that _had_ been the root of his concern, and Cassian was gratified to see a blush of self-reproach light his cheeks, despite the General’s stony expression.

                “I apologise,” he managed in clipped tones. “Though I hope you don’t really think I’m like Saw Gerrera.”

                Cassian stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then laughed. Draven likewise allowed a dry smirk onto his face.

                “I’m sorry Cassian,” he said more naturally. “I’ve known you for longer than anyone else in the Alliance; than anyone else in this galaxy. Mon made me realise that I’d taken a lot of what I asked you and the other Pathfinders to do for granted. Let’s do better this time.”

                He smiled back warmly and took Draven’s hand, clapping the older man’s arm as he shook it. “Let’s do better this time, sir.”


	46. Chapter 46

It would still be some time before the new base — on a planet unknown to most, but already nicknamed ‘Echo Base’ through a series of rumours — was ready for occupation. Rebel intelligence was not as well equipped as the fleet command; neither Draven nor Cracken had their own ship, after all. For now, a small outpost on the moon Pantora sufficed for the work that couldn’t be conducted from the fleet, and this was where _Rogue One_ was to go next.

                First, Bodhi’s cybernetic arm needed checking, and despite her protestations, Jyn finally agreed to accompany Cassian to the Ithorian hospital to have the burn she’d received from the stun prod on Terminus looked at; and to submit to a general evaluation after the brawls, scraps and hits from Karid’s vials. She sat on a bench rolling her eyes at him as he had his ribs checked and an Ithorian medic fussed at her mostly healed shoulder.

                If she’d been hoping to find the story of his life etched on his body in interesting scars then she’d been disappointed; the Rebellion took better care of its soldiers' bodies than Saw’s Partisans had been able to afford to. His scars were ghosts; the faded line of smooth, pale skin just off-centre from his breastbone hinting at a vibroblade wound; a dimple at his shoulder that might have been from a blaster, or flying debris; a fault line in the skin of his thigh. Jyn’s imagination could fill in some of these stories, and the more recently treated patch of silken pink skin embracing his ribs was evidence of how quickly he’d left the med bay after their return from Scarif, but so much was still unknown to her.

                Usually that simple fact would have been enough to reassure her; the less she knew, the less she needed to forget — or would be forced to remember. But she kept thinking of the file the Rebellion had kept on her father; of the endless reports detailing Saw’s steady drift into paranoia and extremism. She’d spent years trying to forget the two of them in all their detail, and then she’d drunk up the intelligence files like the parched ground in a rainstorm, struggling to understand the foreign, two-dimensional descriptions from the perspective of someone who’d seen another angle on both. Cassian had brought her the files. Why?

                She watched him laugh and say something in Ithorese to the attendant, smoothing his shirt down and gesturing easily as he looked for a word he couldn’t recall. Those shades; easy humour that could go to straight-edged glowering with a shift in the air; Jyn had always seen them and strove to respond to them, but now, to her resentment, she wanted to know where they came from. The archaeology of his scars had only raised further questions; questions she’d never anticipated having, but his determination not to burden her with himself was gradually, inevitably drawing her curiosity.

                They left the hospital together, and she couldn’t deny the easy way they fell in stride with one another, the way her back straightened and her chin thrust out at a defiant angle as their gaits synced. Elysse and all the others had started off under her command — or, like Codo, thought they had something to teach her. But this was different; he was an equal, not someone vying needily for her attention, either as her pupil or her mentor.

                At the ship, Baze and Chirrut were overseeing the delivery of their belongings from _Home One_. Nari hung around the landing ramp with Marnoi’s green R5 unit whilst Rhinzi chatted animatedly with Chirrut. The droid beeped an excited greeting when it detected Jyn and Cassian’s approach, and Nari grinned and waved. She’d finally found news of Marnoi, who had been deliberately infected with one of Karid’s serums; it was an old compound that was known to the Rebellion, and Marnoi had recovered under supervision. According to all that Nari had heard, he was once more an outspoken, headstrong presence in the meetings of the displaced Alderaanians, who Leia had gathered together in a series of old pleasure cruisers that had been donated to the Rebellion.

                “And what about you?” Jyn even allowed herself a twinge of curiosity about where her mother’s old friend would go next.

                “I’m being sent to Echo Base!” Nari beamed. “Off exploring again — the geography of the place will be quite a challenge, but they need all hands they can get shoring it up.”

                Cassian’s lips twitched, and Jyn felt a flash of annoyance as she realised it spoke of knowledge he’d not shared with the rest of them; of course he knew where the next base would be. “I’m sure they do. I hope the work suits you,” he told Nari.

                She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him, looking at Jyn. “Still full of secrets, isn’t he? Jyn,” she was upon her with a tight hug before Jyn could take a step away from the ship’s ramp. Nari swayed the two of them, putting enough enthusiasm for both into the embrace. Her face pressed to the side of Jyn’s head, her muffled voice continued: “Jyn I am so glad to have met you. I hope I haven’t bored you with all the talk of Galen and Lyra. I miss your mother every day. Every single day. And just to see an echo of her in you is more than I could ever have hoped for. But you are your own person,” Nari laughed wetly and Jyn made herself return the hug, fearing that if tears had begun, Nari wouldn’t release her for an age.

                “And what a person!” Nari finally pulled back, her eyes glossy with water and her smile wider than Jyn had ever seen it. Jyn tried not to grimace in terror and offered Nari a minute nod and a small pat on the arm, though Nari’s grip on her own biceps didn’t let up. “Don’t stop fighting. The galaxy doesn’t stand a chance against you. And one day, I know you’ll get to enjoy this vast starscape without having to keep fighting and running.”

                Jyn swallowed and nodded again, struggling against the inexplicable hardness in her throat and the tickle at the corner of her eyes. Nari’s second swift, tight hug gave her extra time to hide the emotion that had risen to the surface, and by the time she was at long last released, Jyn had regained control; only her pale cheeks told of the effort of deferring the feelings that Nari’s words had so cruelly teased. Jyn thought of her father’s holo message — _if you’re_ happy, _Jyn_ — and swallowed again as Nari claimed a hug from Cassian too.

                “Well, you know where to get hold of us; the fleet can relay messages,” she tried to say it as simply as possible, and was grateful when Nari ignored the wobble at the back of her voice.

                “I’ll send all the updates I can,” she laughed easily through the tears that now overflowed her lower lids, and beckoned to R5 to follow her.

                Rhinzi’s departure was far swifter; he nodded and spoke breathily with them all, but was really in a hurry to visit the hospital and talk to Bodhi before he was discharged with his arm repaired. It was only when he’d gone that Jyn realised she hadn’t heard what he’d be doing next; she puzzled over the fact that this question had even occurred to her, too late as it still was.

                Chirrut stuck a hand out to catch her wrist as she passed him on the way into the ship. “Rhinzi’s going to stay on Ithor for a little while, working with Mowna. Whilst he does so, the Alliance will be finding out all it can from him about the Empire’s knowledge of galactic anomalies.”

                Jyn blinked, and nodded. “Thanks, Chirrut.”

                He grinned. “And Baze’s assessment of our new role is that it’s all the Alliance could do to think of a way of keeping us grounded for a few standard months.”

                Baze grunted and half-turned from rummaging in the supplies that had been delivered. “That’s right. Grounded with a bunch of rookies to babysit. _Responsibility_. It’s like they’re trying to teach us a lesson …”

                “Would you have preferred the diplomatic post?” Cassian asked, sidling past Baze to peer into the same crate. He’d already been through the personal effects, and Jyn saw that old brown sweater from Yavin draped over his arm. More questions she’d not wanted to have.

                Baze made another rumbling sound in his big chest. “Easier to abscond from,” he shrugged.

                “No absconding,” Jyn smirked. “We do this together. If we can survive the Death Star three times, we can survive a few new recruits.”

                “I have to use that motto too many times a day already,” Baze complained.

                “‘If I survived the Death Star three times I can survive this weak caf,’” Chirrut parroted. “‘If I survived the Death Star three times I can survive another night on this ship’s rock hard bunks’. 'If I survived the Death Star three times I can survive another trip through the asteroid field—‘”

                “Alright, alright, we all have our coping strategies,” Baze said, moving over to Chirrut and handing him an old, palm-sized codex: one of the books of the Whills that Jesma and Halla had preserved and managed to get sent to them. Chirrut clasped it between his hands and smiled beatifically up at Baze.

                Jyn moved into the hold, tailing a hand across the small of Cassian’s back as she sidled past him. The ship still needed repairs, but those would take place once they reached Pantora; in the meantime, the console would be as inscrutable as before, and they’d still be a cannon down. A few members of Rogue Squadron were to fly escort with them on their departure early the next morning; insurance against any unexpected encounters on the journey. Once she’d established that the few belongings she had left on the ship were still there — nothing of hers had been on _Home One_ — Jyn left the spare fatigues in a pile on her bunk and retreated to Ithor’s wide streets.

                Cassian caught up with her in the milling crowds of Ithorians and Rebels, his jacket abandoned in the ship and the old jumper back in place. Jyn turned to wait for him to approach, then slipped an arm easily around his waist as they walked in the direction of the hostel. She tightened her grip on the scratchy, natural fibres and looked up at him.

                “Tell me about the jumper.”

                He looked down at her in surprise. “It’s old,” he shrugged. “It’s comfortable.”

                “No. Tell me. I want to know.”

                His dark eyes glinted as he studied her, a curious expression on his face: gentle and hesitant. “Okay. It belonged to my father …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I didn't end it somewhere it wasn't going to end, sorry!
> 
> In theory, I might come back to this AU. It depends how I feel when I've read the two new YA books on the Guardians and Jyn.

**Author's Note:**

> There's that bit in Mon Mothma's obituary for Jyn, where she says she doesn't know what she'd have become, but she's certain she'd have been extraordinary. I wanted to know how Jyn could have become extraordinary, and it was clear she had some major stuff to overcome on her way there. Unfortunately, as I wrote thousands of words on the topic, I realised I wasn't good at writing military scenes, and Jyn's strength really lies in fighting and leadership. Oops. So I just blathered about Nature and Emotions a lot and, well, here we are. If you got here, you're amazing. AMAZING. And I love you, and all feedback in all its forms (though go easy if you spot inconsistencies, please!). Thanks for coming along for however much of the ride you were able to read :-)


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